


Blast From the Past

by holyfudgemonkeys (erraticallyinspired)



Series: Blast From the Past [1]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BRIEF Harry/Eggsy/Harry in one of the alternate endings but you can skip that one, Eggsy is Bors not Galahad, Eggsy's sister is Rian here, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Harry Hart Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Love at First Sight, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Young Harry Hart, as a reference to the original comic, because there are three endings in all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-26 00:04:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticallyinspired/pseuds/holyfudgemonkeys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1982, a young Harry 'Galahad' Hart is tasked with stealing a mysterious device.</p><p>In 2016, Eggsy 'Bors' Unwin follows a suspicious man and ends up with more than he bargained for.</p><p>AKA the fic where a 22 year old Harry finds his way into the future.</p><p> </p><p>Updates will be every other day</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Galahad, Meet Bors. Bors, Galahad.

1982

"Galahad, _you need to shut the device off_ ," comes the crackly voice in his ear.

"Thank you for telling me, Merlin, I had _no_ clue," Harry mutters, dodging a punch that he's not sure wouldn't have knocked him out if it made contact. A leg tries to sweep him off his own two, and he jumps to miss it. "Any other wonderful ideas, dear?"

"Duck."

He does, the stool clanging against the back wall instead of his face. There are two guards and a scientist in the room with him, all of them trying their hardest to stop him from reaching the damn machine. (He takes one of them down with a hearty shock of electricity; make that _one_ guard and a scientist.) Really, if Dr. Scott had just _stuck to his bloody schedule_ , Harry would be halfway to London HQ with the machine in hand and no one would have noticed for another fifteen minutes. (The last guard standing finally pulls a gun -- while hissing something about Harry being a 'slippery bastard' even though his parents were married before he was conceived _thank you very much_ \-- but Harry's faster. Much faster.)

"Now, if you'll excuse me, Dr. Scott, I'll be taking that with me," he drawls as he smoothes out his suit jacket with a smug grin.

Which promptly leaves his face as the man frantically finishes typing a line of code into the small (for the time) computer by the machine. The clunky mishmash of metal scraps and wires is whirring and lighting up. He's vaguely aware of Merlin shouting in his ear.

"Merlin, I _think_ I may be in need of some assistance."

Then the machine is emitting some sort of light, and it's right in his eyes, blinding him.

 

2016

"Bors, look over at the bar again." There's something weird in Merlin's voice, so Eggsy follows the order with no complaint or teasing this time.

"See something you like?" Okay, maybe a _little_ teasing.

"The man at the end with the god-awful tie," Merlin says, ignoring the comments as usual. "Keep an eye out on him."

"Who is he?" Eggsy asks and takes a sip from his drink.

"I'm not sure." Well, _fuck_. If he's learned anything in the last year, it's that it takes a lot to stump Merlin, to make him sound that frustrated. "Just be careful, Eggsy."

And using his real name, too? Not good. "Of course, dear," he mutters, hoping to lighten the mood.

It doesn't work. Neither he nor Merlin can muster up a laugh at the endearment.

A horrible, queasy feeling is creepy up his spine and settling in his bones, refusing to be shaken off no matter what he does, and he does a _lot_. Eggsy dances with no less than four beautiful women, gets two free drinks from two separate and very handsome men, and is able to, within a short period of time and with minimal effort, get the gossip he needs to pass to Merlin, who will pass it to Gawain, who will copy some key documents and commit some arson while the target is still at the party. It's an easy mission. There's no action in it at all for him, just schmoozing his way into the information, but he's so tense with _anticipation_.

"He's leaving. You know the drill."

Yes, he does. _Wait forty seconds, then follow at a distance._ "Ugly tie? We still worrying about him?"

"Follow him," Merlin says, frustrated.

 

He follows him out of the building, down the lane that separates the fancy gentleman's club from the main road, and a few blocks into the city to a generic office building.

"A bit shady, bruv," he mutters to himself before clearing his throat and speaking up for Merlin to hear better. "Right, um, I'll follow him in, then. Got any idea who this guy is, yet?"

"I'm still running a photo. Be careful."

The rough edge to Merlin's voice and the jittery pulse of something close to fear along his spine are all the incentives he needs to take the words seriously. His steps are quiet as he enters the building and trails after the target. His breathing is almost non-existent. Tapping his fingers on the frame of his glasses in the signal for 'proceeding', Eggsy slips into a room behind the man.

The man doesn't notice him. He's typing away on a laptop, his tie crumpled into a ball on the table next to it. The thin computer is swamped with cords connecting it to some machine off to the side, and the whole thing looks like it was built from scraps.

Merlin curses in his ear. "Get him away from the laptop, Bors, _now_. Don't let him finish the -"

Eggsy switches his watch to _'tranquilizer'_ and aims for the man's neck without a second thought, but it's too late, because the machine thrums to life, and the man turns around to glance at it, seeing Eggsy in the corner of his eye as he does. Before the dart can hit, he presses the enter key.

 _Lights._ Lights right in his eyes, and it's so bright and _comforting_ that he can't look away.

"Eggsy," Merlin shouts.

He snaps out of it, stumbling out of the light's path. "Y-yeah, bruv?"

"Shut it off," Merlin demands, worried and angry and _oh fuck_ Eggsy's not getting any dangerous missions for a while.

"I don' know how," he blurts out. The afterimages of the light are still swimming in his vision despite his furious blinking. They're blocking his view, so thank _fuck_ for the glasses, because without Merlin he'd be blind to any danger, but then there's a thud and the metallic sputtering noises of the machine dying a pathetically short death and a distinct _lack_ of Scottish brogue in his ear. "Merlin?" His voice is frantic, a bit high-pitched.

The Scotsman is silent.

" _Merlin?_ "

"There's a body a meter in front of you, Bors. I need a better look at the face."

A body? He rubs at his eyes, trying to chase away the last of the blobs, before shuffling closer. He leans down and -

"Fuck," Merlin mutters, and Eggsy's thinking the same thing, because -

"'E looks a bit like 'Arry, doesn't he?" Younger, though, and oh _wow_ , look at that hair. Merlin is silent again, so he just nudges the body a little with a foot.

And is promptly yanked off his feet by a cold hand. A little scream escapes him, because, _fuck_ , the body -- the Harry Hart look-a-like -- looked dead a moment before. Worse yet, there are little bursts of laughter in his ear tinged with hysteria that makes it sound like Merlin's lost his fucking mind. He rips his leg out of the icy hold, scrambles backward, and flips himself up into a standing position, legs loose and hands on his umbrella, ready to fight.

"Galahad," he hears distantly, as if Merlin is talking to someone off to the side. "Galahad, _stand down._ "

Not-Harry is on his feet and ready to fight, too, though he looks like he's about to collapse. "Merlin?" he says in a voice that definitely sounds like Harry.

Eggsy's confused, Not-Harry is confused, and Merlin is _apparently_ insane.

"Stand down, Galahad, before you kill my favorite agent," the Scotsman says, his voice a slightly shaky attempt at teasing.

"Here, I thought _I_ was your favorite," Not-Harry quips. He's still ready to go, but his stance is loosening.

"I'm your favorite?" Eggsy pipes up.

"I tolerate you, _both_ of you - Bors, I take back what I said."

"Bors?" Not-Harry says, tense again.

" Look around you, Galahad. It's not 1982. Galahad, meet Bors. Bors, Galahad."

1982? Eggsy does some math in his head. "Wait, Merlin, is 'e -"

"I think so, Bors."

He feels faint. Sitting down in the closest chair, he takes another look at Not-Harry, or, more accurately, Young-Harry. _Fuck._

"You can verify this?" Young-Harry says calmly.

"Of course," Merlin says, still sounding off but also smug.

Eggsy and Harry both grimace. Smug Merlin never bodes well.

"During your loyalty trial -"

"I believe that's quite enough," Harry says. His face looks paler, if that's even possible, and then he stumbles a bit, and Eggsy's chest hurts.

Before he even knows what he's doing, he's over there, supporting Harry with an arm around his back. "I got ya, bruv."

"Are you sure you're a Kingsman agent?" Harry says not with disgust or arrogance but with genuine surprise and wonder.

"'m the odd one out, I know." None of the other agents really gave a fuck, though. He had Merlin's, Lancelot's, and surprisingly Percival's support, and even if he didn't, he had earned respect for his own actions on V-day. (Besides, all of them had trusted Harry, too, and Eggsy had been Harry's choice.)

"It's quite refreshing," he says honestly. Then he pauses. "I think I'm going to be sick."

 

Since Gawain had long since gone back to headquarters to report, Eggsy is tasked with hauling Harry, Dr. Scott, and the dead machine back with him - all by himself. While feeling dizzy (and heartbroken, but he's _not_ going to tell Merlin that) from the night's events.

"It's much smaller than the version I encountered," Harry muses, lifting the machine with shaky arms to inspect it closer.

"Light enuff' for ya, yeah?"

"Of course."

They make quite a comical sight, because Harry's weak from fuckin' time travel ( _actual fuckin' time travelin', Merlin_ and _yes, Bors, thank you for the insight_ ) and Eggsy is afraid to leave him alone in the car with the high-tech Kingsman interface thirty-some years ahead of his time. But he also needs to get the machine and Dr. Scott in the car. Not to mention that he's a bit wary that Harry will split if he's left alone in the building, too. So Eggsy's solution? To give Harry the device to hold and an office chair with wheels he'd found in another room to sit on. Dr. Scott's limp body is slung across Eggsy's shoulders in a fireman's carry, and his free hand is holding the back of the chair in a firm grasp. They're making the trip in one go.

Eggsy's glad Merlin can't see them.

"I don't suppose you could tell me what year it is?" Harry says. He's sitting so proper-like in the damn chair that Eggsy feels like rolling his eyes. At this point he's pretty sure the man could look all gentleman-y anywhere.

(Like in the cheap pub Eggsy grew up with, where they shared their first and only beer, where Eggsy got his first real look at Harry and started thinking of him as something _more_.)

He looks away, focusing on getting down the hallway. "'N cause one of them paradox things? Sorry, bruv, but I've seen the movies, and I ain't gonna be responsible for the end of the world."

Merlin chuckles. "I'm not sure it works like that, Bors. Still, good thinking. Sorry, Galahad, but it's for the best."

Harry scowls. It's kind of... adorable, though Eggsy will keep that to himself, _thanks_. He's just so much younger than Eggsy's used to, and it's like his edges are somehow softer.

 

The corners of his mouth are curling up no matter how hard he's trying to keep a neutral face, because, _fuck_ , he thought the scowl was adorable, and it has nothing on Harry's laughter, his genuine, uncontrollable mirth. It creases the skin around his eyes, the edges of his mouth, and even his suit as he holds a hand against his stomach and tries not to fall down. He's still pale, still more than a little weak in the legs, so it takes some effort. 

Eggsy bends down to greet JB and hide his face as subtly as he can while he struggles to put on a neutral expression (and thankfully, just this once, JB is happy to comply).

Merlin's glaring at Harry, a bit pale himself. It's not every week you see an old, dead friend alive and young again.

It's also not every week you see a close friend older and suddenly _bald_. "I sincerely apologize, Merlin," Harry says, still wheezing a bit. "It's just - your _hair_."

"Yes, Harry?" Merlin says with a low voice.

" _It's gone_ ," he blurts out.

Eggsy can see a few tears gathering at the corners of his eyes before he rips his gaze away. "Merlin used to have hair?" he jokes. It comes out sounding flat.

"Not you, too," Merlin groans. " _This_ is why I shave."

Harry grasps Eggsy’s shoulder for support and says, “Oh, he _loved_ that hair. Don’t worry, Merlin, I think you still look quite dashing.”

JB sniffs his pant leg as he stands next to Eggsy.

“Just -- _sit down_ , Harry,” Merlin bites out, pointing at a chair for emphasis. It’s said in the sort of tone that Eggsy knows means he has to be a good agent and listen if he doesn’t want to get all of the awful missions for the following month, and evidently Harry knows it, too, because he takes his hand off of Eggsy and sits down, still looking vaguely amused.

His shoulder feels cold without the hand there. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he focuses on Merlin (and only Merlin) and waits for something, anything.

“Good,” Merlin says finally. He glances at both of them just to be sure they’re done. “Now, we’ve got Dr. Scott in custody, and I’m sure he’ll be _very_ willing to explain his machine.” A smirk unfolds on his face.

Eggsy smirks and so does Harry, and okay, maybe he _isn’t_ so good at focusing on just the Scotsman. It’ll be easier, he’s sure, when he can get out of there and leave Young-Harry for Merlin to handle.

“But,” Merlin continues, “in the meantime, Galahad cannot stay here.”

“I’m right here,” Harry says with a scowl. 

“And that’s the problem,” Merlin shoots back at him. “Since the universe hasn’t imploded, I’m assuming we eventually find a way to send you back. _Without_ excessive knowledge of the future. I cannot let you stay here around all of the agents and tech. We’re lucky enough I remembered the frequency the old earpieces worked on.”

“Can I split?” Eggsy says. He’s fidgeting. Why is he even here? He finished the mission _and_ the damn unofficial one, the machine and the scientist are both at headquarters being studied, and even his final check-in with Merlin is over. (Harry keeps glancing at him, like he’s trying to figure out the same question or, at least, how Eggsy even fits into the whole situation, the whole organization, and the eyes on him make him feel like a bloody child trying on his father’s clothes, the fabric pooling around him because _he just doesn’t measure up_.)

Merlin gives him a look. “Not yet, _Gary_ ,” he says, leaning back and daring him to say something about the name.

“‘N why not?” It’s like Harry’s scowl has transferred right to him, because, when he offers no verbal protest, the man perks up, staring at Eggsy intently.

“Because,” Merin says, smirking that same sadistic smirk he had when talking about Dr. Scott, “Harry’s going home with _you_.” 

“Wot?” 

Even JB gives a bark of protest from his place by Eggsy’s feet.

“You heard me.” He takes a long sip from his mug. 

“Why don’ _you_ take ‘im?” 

Shaking his head, Merlin takes his damn time putting the mug back down on the desk, his eyes amused. “Around all the office? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t spend much time _out_ of headquarters.”

“But --”

“He’s best off with you. You don’t know as much as I do.”

“But -- but wot abou’ Lancelot or Percival or, _I dunno_ , Kay?” The urge to snap at Harry that he’s not a bloody zoo animal is strong, but that would require him to look at Harry, which is probably _not_ a good idea right now.

“And introduce him to more agents? No, it’s best to keep this contained as much as possible.”

“I promise I won’t be in your way,” Harry says finally, still watching Eggsy.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You’ll have to keep an eye on him, Gary, no matter _what_ he says.”

So he just doesn’t have a damn choice. His shoulders droop a little, resigned. “‘N where am I suppos’d to keep ‘im then?”

It’s a legitimate question, because Eggsy has been living in Harry’s house. His mum and Rian have the house right next to it all to themselves. He would have moved in with them, too (honestly, he’s over there every single day to watch Rian and eat dinner and curl up on the couch with his mum and favorite little girl and all their old favorite films), but he refused to let Harry’s house be emptied or kept like some sick sort of museum, and the only way to guarantee that was to move in himself. Now, Eggsy’s never been the sort to clean willingly, but he does it. Mr. Pickles is a bloody dust magnet, so the stuffed dog gets a dusting and a brushing every few days, and the office gets dusting (and thorough cleaning after the rough nights he spends getting sloshed there, watching Harry’s old missions on the laptop), too. Eggsy doesn’t sleep in the master bedroom ( _most_ nights), but he changes the sheets every so often and makes sure the suits are well taken care of. 

If headquarters is dangerous enough to keep Harry at, then sending him off with Eggsy to his own house is just as bad. Maybe even worse, because Eggsy hasn’t bothered to erase any trace of Harry’s life there -- including the walls of front pages.

And Eggsy’s mum’s house? Not a good idea either. Sure, she gives him hugs and tells him it’ll get better on the worst days when his eyes are rimmed red and bloodshot, when he swears Harry is just going to walk out of the office or come out and ask Eggsy how he takes his steak, but that _doesn’t_ mean she likes Harry Hart. His first interaction with her family gave them hope, his second left her a shell of herself and with the burden of raising her son all alone, and the third and fourth repeated the cycle but with _Eggsy_ as the shell of himself and, this time, with no one to blame -- just someone to mourn. As far as she’s concerned, the posh bastard has caused them a good deal of grief. 

No, it wouldn’t be good to bring Harry there, either.

“At your house,” Merlin says, quirking an eyebrow.

Eggsy gapes at him.

“If we confine him to a safe house, he’ll find a way out,” he continues.

Though he doesn’t say anything, Harry smirks.

“‘M not responsible for ‘im finding anything out,” Eggsy says firmly.

“He’d find a way to regardless of who was watching him,” Merlin says in agreement (and just a touch fondly). “And might I suggest taking a car?”

“I’m feeling better,” Harry protests. “I believe I could walk if it’s not far.”

“ _That’s_ what I’m afraid of,” Merlin says.


	2. Harry's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets Eggsy's little sister, takes a nap, and misunderstands the situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things in this chapter will likely be unclear, but I'm hoping the next chapter (scenes from these first two from Harry's perspective) will clear them up. Also, note that I didn't tag slow burn.

They approach the house, _Harry’s_ house, in the car, and Harry’s still fucking looking at him, though it was more of a glance out of the corner of his eye during most of the ride. If it wasn’t for Eggsy’s childhood and later Marines and Kingsman training, he might not have noticed it, honestly, but it’s so obvious to him now. 

Especially when he’s watching Harry, too.

“You live here?” Harry says neutrally.

“Yeah.”

He parks the car and goes to unlock the front door, JB trotting along behind him. But nothing is easy for him tonight, of course, and as soon as he’s got the damn key in the lock, the door to the next house is opening even though it’s not even six in the morning yet.

“Mum?” he says, glancing back at Harry with a grimace and lowering his volume. “Mum, it’s Gary today, _yeah?_ ”

She looks over at Harry, too, and visibly startles. “Wot --”

“ _Don’t_ ask, Mum,” he says, and his voice must be pained enough, because she doesn’t.

“Right,” she says. “Could you watch your sister? I got a call; Sally’s out sick, and I gotta go in.”

He winces, but he knows how important this new job is to his mum, even if she knows she doesn’t have to worry about rent or food money, and he does love babysitting Rian regardless of who her father is. “Yeah. She up yet?”

Michelle smiles at him gratefully, pulling him into a tight hug. “Yeah, you know how she is. Light sleeper, tha’ one. I’ll bring ‘er right out. Could you feed ‘er soon? She’s been wantin’ some of your pancakes, and I _‘pparently_ don’ do ‘em righ’.” 

They both grin.

“No problem, Mum.” He looks back at Harry, just a meter behind him, when she disappears back into the house. “You okay with tha’?”

Harry blinks. “You didn’t plan on entertaining a guest,” he says kindly, “so it would be rude of me to protest you going about your normal day.”

Eggsy rolls his eyes. “You okay wit’ it or not?” When _his_ Harry was still alive, he had never gotten the chance to meet Rian, and Eggsy just barely remembers meeting the man as a child, so who _knows_ how the man feels about children. 

“It’s not a problem,” Harry says, smiling lightly.

 

Eggsy starts to wonder if it _is_ a problem as he carefully pours the pancake batter into little Mickey Mouse head shapes on the griddle he’d found stashed in the back off Harry’s cabinets so many months ago. Rian’s settled into the high chair he keeps at the house for days just like this, and she’s silent, her gaze settled on Harry. And Harry? He’s staring right back at her with a neutral face. It’s a bloody staring contest apparently. 

Until she giggles. 

Harry’s face breaks out into a warm smile, his eyes crinkling slightly, and Eggsy’s heart falls to the floor next to JB, who’s licking himself by his feet, waiting for any scraps he can get. Flipping the pancakes, he looks away.

“Gary,” Harry says, “could you point me to the facilities?”

“Yeah,” he says, staring at the golden brown sides of the pancakes cooking in the pan as he rambles off the directions.

It’s not until he hears the door opening distantly that he realizes his fuck-up. “‘Arry, _wait_ ,” he shouts, turning off the gas to the griddle and rushing down the hall. “You best use the one upstairs; it’s --” 

Harry’s standing there, even paler than he was before, his cheeks devoid of all the color that had come back in the hours since his time trip.

“-- cleaner,” Eggsy finishes lamely.

“Is that -- _Mr. Pickles?_ ” Harry stutters out. He knows the answer, knows the color of his fur, knows the perk of his ears and the way he rests his head on his paws. It is undoubtedly Mr. Pickles, but it doesn’t stop him from clutching the frame of the door hard enough to whiten his knuckles, trying to think of some other reason why there’d be a stuffed dog in the loo.

“Yeah?” Eggsy says quietly. “I mean, yeah, tha’’s Mr. Pickles.”

“Oh.” Harry’s silent for a moment. “Did you -- did you _brush him?_ ”

Eggsy looks down at his oxfords. “Yeah. Mondays and Thursdays.”

“Ah.”

“You wanna use the loo upstairs?”

“No, thank you. You should check in on Ms. Rian, Gary.”

“Okay,” Eggsy mutters, nodding as he turns and heads back to the kitchen. 

Not long after, Harry comes back to Rian’s giggling and Eggsy’s cooking, and none of them bring up Mr. Pickles as they eat Mickey Mouse pancakes.

 

Eggsy lets Rian pick out what she wants to watch, because if he picks something out for her (even if it is her favorite of the week), she’ll stubbornly _suffer_ through it. Harry only looks amused at the sheer amount of Disney films in his TV stand.

“You sure you don’ mind?” Eggsy says, looking over at him.

“Not at all, though I promise you, Gary -- you don’t have to watch me every minute of the day.”

Eggsy scoffs. “Stop actin’ innocent, ‘Arry. You’re goin’ bonkers not knowin’ anythin’. Admit it.”

“You seem to know quite a lot about me,” Harry says casually. “Were we close?”

“Oh, no, you ain’t goin’ get a word from me.”

“Really now? Perhaps Merlin was right to send me off with you, if we weren’t close.”

He’s so fucking nonchalant about it that Eggsy can’t help but bristle. “‘N who’s tuh say we ain’t close _now?_ ”

Looking him straight in the eye, Harry says, “I imagine it would be hard to be ‘close’ with a dead man. Unless that’s your thing, of course.”

_Fuck._ His lungs stop working, his chest aches, and he wants to get out of that fucking room away from the bastard’s fucking questions because he can’t even close his eyes now, not without seeing it all happen again, he’s sure, and _dammit Harry_. He looks away and slowly counts down from ten.

“Ah, so I was correct.”

“How?” Eggsy bites out, watching Rian trying to decide between Frozen and Mulan. 

“Well I’m certainly not around anymore. None of my preferred foods were in the fridge, and the soap by all of the sinks is much too rough on the skin for my tastes. If I was just gone, however, I would have taken my things with me -- or, at the very least, I would have taken Mr. Pickles. Should I go on?”

“‘Ggy, ‘Ggy,” Rian says, pulling herself up onto the couch, Mulan in hand. 

Eggsy helps her up, settling her between himself and Harry. It feels awful to use his own sister like that, but he needs a buffer right now. “Good choice, Princess.”

 

He honestly didn’t think about how tired Harry must have been after what he’d been through in the last twenty-four hours (for him at least), because although his legs had been shaky and his face pale, he’d done a remarkable job of pretending to be fine after the drive home.

Now, as the avalanche falls on top of the Huns, he’s asleep on the couch, his head tipped back and his face slack. Rian, amusingly enough, is burrowed in his side and fast asleep as well. Eggsy doesn’t want to disturb them.

It’s not because they both need the rest (and they _do_ ), but because every single time he raises a hand to _maybe_ separate them, to tuck Rian into the kids bed he set up in a guest room for her, to shake Harry’s shoulder and point him in the direction of a real bed, he just _can’t_. His hand falls back down to lie next to his leg or back down in his lap. So he sits there until the movie’s over, though he doesn’t see more than a few minutes of it. Then he has no excuse to stay still. He’s tempted to fall asleep there himself, but he still has the nightmares whenever he’s had too many painful reminders of Harry in a day, and today had the most he’s encountered in a few months. (Not to mention that the anniversary of that day is in less than a week.)

Getting up and stretching, Eggsy sees the two of them face first and can’t resist the urge to take a picture with his phone. It’s adorable. He is, of course, of the mind that Rian is _always_ adorable, but this is the only time he’d ever seen Harry so peaceful. Sure, he’d seen him in the coma, but this is harmless. This doesn’t hurt so much. 

“C’mon, Princess,” he whispers, gently pulling his sister away from Harry and up into his arms. “I got you.” He leaves the room as silently as possible, JB at his heels.

Harry watches him go through cracked eyes.

 

Eggsy leaves Harry where he is, curling up in the master bedroom in Harry’s old robe instead. Any scent _his_ Harry might have left behind has long since faded. It doesn’t smell stale, because part of his routine is to air out the rooms, and he does spray a little of the man’s cologne around, but it’s just not the same. 

He curls up tighter. JB whines on the floor.

 

As soon as Rian’s up and getting twitchy, Eggsy starts lunch. Just sandwiches, but she’s actually pretty easy to please despite her insistence that their mum can’t make Mickey Mouse pancakes right, and he figures Harry will just have to settle for whatever Eggsy gives him. He plops Rian into her highchair before going to wake him.

“Harry,” he says, nudging his shoulder. “Harry.”

A hand grabs his arm painfully tight. “Gary?” It releases him.

“Food’s up.”

And so they eat. Rian munches on small bites of her sandwich and a small handful of crisps, occasionally babbling about her favorite shows. Harry and Eggsy slowly make their way through their own plates without talking.

They don’t talk when Michelle comes to pick Rian up after her shift twenty minutes later. They don’t talk to other when they agree to get some rest, Eggsy merely taking a blanket out of the supply closet and putting it down the bed in the master bedroom (which he set right right after getting up earlier) before going down to the guest room he took for his own. They don’t talk at all until Eggsy starts screaming.

 

Unsurprisingly, he’d had nightmares after V-day. Sometimes Gazelle got him before he got her, sometimes his mum never got Roxy’s call. Most of the time, however, he dreamed of the church. It was often just the memory of watching it all go down, helpless to do anything about it, but other times it got worse -- Eggsy in Harry’s place, slaughtering an entire congregation, and Harry in Valentine’s place, telling Eggsy he was disappointed in him before pulling the trigger. Or sometimes it was also Eggsy in Valentine’s place, shooting Harry in the face without remorse. Every single time he woke up screaming and drenched in sweat. Thankfully, they lessened as the months went by, every night turning into four, three, two times a week, and now it was just whenever the memories got too bad. 

He knew he was going to have nightmares when he laid down. He knew it just like he knew the sun was going to fall that night and rise the next morning, but he _had_ to go to sleep. Forty hours of no sleep, of missions and reporting and Harry and Rian tired him out until he couldn’t even keep from yawning anymore. He was asleep less than three minutes after crawling into bed.

Naturally, he wakes up just over an hour later to the sound of his own screams mixed with JB’s frantic barking, but even as he struggles to cut the scream off, an itch at the back of his neck lets him know he’s not alone.

“Gary,” Harry says soothingly, sitting on the edge of the bed. He cautiously places a hand on his back. “It’s okay, Gary.”

“No, it ain’t,” he snaps back hoarsely but doesn’t make any effort to move away.

“Shh,” Harry says. His hand leaves Eggsy’s back but not because he’s moving away. Instead, he gently pulls Eggsy’s soaked sleep shirt over his head. “Where do you keep your shirts?”

“Left drawer.”

He finishes changing him and then coaxes him out of bed.

“Wot’re you doin’?”

“Don’t make me drag you, Gary,” Harry says, amused. They make it to the master bedroom. “Will sleeping in your own bed be easier?”

“It’s not --”

Harry pulls the blanket down on the unused side and gives him a look.

“ _Sure_ ,” Eggsy grumbles, laying down there. “But it ain’t --”

“I’m sorry, Gary,” Harry says softly and gets into bed. Right next to him.

Eggsy tries to turn around, to look at Harry and ask what the fuck he’s doing, because, sure, he loved Harry, but Harry was just _fond of him_ like a student or something, and they certainly never got into bed together -- but Harry slots himself right against Eggsy’s back, slips an arm around his waist, and Eggsy can’t breathe.

“ _Harry?_ ” he squeaks.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeats. He’s tracing little circles on the fabric of Eggsy’s shirt, just on his stomach. “It must be hard seeing me after your Harry died.”

“Y-yeah, but it weren’t --”

“Go to sleep, Gary,” he says, resting his head against the base of Eggsy’s neck.

JB jumps up, too, and lays at the foot of the the bed, and they all fall asleep.

 

There’s a hard cock burning a line against his arse, and _fuck_ does it feel good. Eggsy’s not a stranger to sex of any combination -- with a woman, with a man, being on top, being on bottom. Once he’d even been pegged, and wasn’t _that_ an interesting experience. 

But he’s not used to waking up this way.

Usually he’s gone before the loose, warm feeling leaves his body, usually there’s minimal to no cuddling, and usually there’s no sleeping involved _whatsoever_. Especially not sleep this good. Months and months of nightmares have wrecked his sleeping patterns and left him sleeping in short chunks even on the better days, but he actually feels rested right now -- rested and happy and a touch horny. His mind still clouded with hours of deep sleep, Eggsy presses back into the body behind him and lets the small moan building in his throat free. It’s been a _long_ time since he fucked (or was fucked) last.

The hips behind him jerk forward, the heavy arm around his stomach tightens, and little lazy kisses are pressed to the back of neck. 

“Gary?” Harry says, his voice rough with sleep but already alert.

Eggsy freezes. His mind catches up, and he tries to slip out of Harry’s hold, to leave and just fucking take care of himself so that he can be _ashamed_ about this already, but the arm around him is too tight, and a leg slips between his and keeps them from moving too frantically.

“Gary,” Harry says soothingly. “It’s okay. It’s a natural reaction.”

“You _ain’t_ him,” Eggsy whispers, because _fuck_ he’s still too tired to censor himself.

“Not yet,” is the reply. 

“I can’t do that to ‘im.” Can’t let him shoulder the guilt once he realizes that he fucked the chav he’ll mentor. Can’t let him decide to pull away because he’s horrified that he got it on with a guy half his age. Can’t let him feel pity for Eggsy when he realizes the boy’s _in love with him_ when his own feelings are platonic.

“He loved you, Gary. He’d want you to find comfort.”

“No, ‘e didn’,” Eggsy says hoarsely, hot tears starting to blur his vision.

“I don’t believe that,” Harry says firmly. He kisses Eggsy’s shoulder softly. “But if you don’t want to do this, I’ll let you go.” He doesn’t move again, his hot breath against Eggsy’s back as he waits for an answer.

Twisting around in the loosening hold, Eggsy meets his eyes. They’re still dark with arousal, but there’s a warmth in them, too, that makes him want to cry harder, because no matter how much Harry’s body has changed with age, his eyes are the same -- that _fondness_ is the same. “It’s wrong,” he says before pressing a hesitant kiss to Harry’s lips.

Harry responds almost immediately, deepening the kiss but keeping the languid quality of it, and it’s the best fucking kiss Eggsy’s ever had, because he feels _loved_. Even if this is an illusion, the world’s sad fucking way of making up for taking Harry away from him, at least he’ll have this. So he slides a hand to rest on the back of Harry’s head and slips a knee between his legs. 

They rest that way once the kiss is over. A warm thumb lightly calloused by guns brushes away the remnants of the tears on his cheeks, gathered at the corners of his eyes. “Do you want this, Gary?” The voice is just as warm.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, I do.” And he really does.

With a soft smile, Harry coaxes him up to a sitting position and removes his shirt, slips fingers just into the waistband of his trousers, intent on stripping Eggsy before removing any of his own (monogrammed, _of fucking course_ ) clothes. Another moan escapes him as he shifts his body to help the other man. He gets a kiss to the hollow of his hip for it.

“Harry?”

“Yes, Gary?” he says, amused.

“Can I?”

Harry grasps one of Eggsy’s hands and puts it on his chest, just over the top button of his shirt. It’s easy then to pop the buttons one by one and slip the shirt off his shoulders. The trousers go, too, until they’re both naked and hard and _intense_. Giving him a sly smile, Harry rummages through the bottom drawer of the nightstand and pulls out a used bottle of lube. 

“How do you want to do this?” he says, kissing the trail of light hair on Eggsy’s stomach.

“Jus’ fuck me, ‘Arry.” Because even if Harry disappears, even if he goes back and leaves Eggsy alone again, he wants to be able to feel this and know it was _real_.

But Harry doesn’t fuck him.

He gently teases Eggsy’s rim with a lubed finger before slipping it in, stretching and adding one, two, three more fingers until there’s no resistance and lube is dripping from his hole. He cries out as Harry brushes his prostate again, his back arching off the bed and his heels digging into the mattress on either side of him. 

Even when Harry’s cock finally breaches him, it’s a slow but steady glide, made all the more intense by the fact that Harry’s unblinking gaze is focused directly on his face, watching for any discomfort. Eggsy tries to buck his hips, to take Harry right to the root, because he never dreamed that this could actually happen, him and Harry, and it’s almost too intense, but Harry has hands on his hips to keep him still.

“Please,” he whimpers when Harry’s fully seated.

“So polite,” Harry gasp out. His whole body is tense as he tries not to get lost in the sensations.

Not like Eggsy, who’s already there, already feeling like he’s consumed by the throbbing pressure of Harry’s cock in his arse and the heat of his gaze.

“ _Please_ ,” he says again.

Harry eases out almost all the way before rocking back in. The first few thrusts are stuttered, but a rhythm forms until they’re rocking together _oh so slowly_. Both of their hands roam -- Harry’s hitching Eggsy’s legs up onto his shoulder, caressing his thighs and stomach and chest ( _fuck_ , his nipples, too), cupping his jaw for a long kiss, intertwining with Eggsy’s own hands, which have long since unclenched from the bedsheets to pull Harry down by his neck, to play with his hair, to clench around Harry’s.

It’s a slow give and take, in and out, until Eggsy whimpers out Harry’s name, and Harry’s hips jerk, his pace gaining speed without losing the intensity, the feeling behind them.

It builds 

and builds 

and _builds_

until Eggsy’s on the edge, and Harry’s cock brushing his prostate throws him over, and he swears he hears Harry cry out _Eggsy_ not _Gary_ as he thrusts as deep as he can into the clenching heat, but the orgasm is too powerful for the thought to linger.

Eventually Harry’s cock is completely soft, so he pulls out and goes to the bathroom on wobbly legs to find a washcloth. He cleans Eggsy just as gently as he loved him, collapsing back into bed, into Eggsy's arms, right afterwards.

 

Gnawing hunger wakes them both up two hours later. Eggsy’s sore, because no matter how well prepared he was, it’s been months, and Harry shakes his head when he tries to get up.

“Let me,” he says, slipping his robe on.

Eggsy’s cock hardens at the knowledge that there’s nothing underneath it, but he ignores it. “You gonna bring food up ‘ere?” He’s pretty sure eating in bed is too messy for a gentleman.

Dipping down to give him a sweet kiss, Harry smirks. “Allowances can be made. I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I made you move, now would I?”

So they eat bread and cheeses and meats between kisses until their stomachs are full and there are more kisses than bites and the bites become nips of each other’s skin. Harry loved Eggsy in a way that no one ever had before, though he certainly wasn’t a virgin, and Eggsy, baring all of his feelings without uttering a word, returns the favor.

 

Merlin, not hunger, disrupts the afterglow this time. 

“Bors,” he says over the secure phone, and both Eggsy and Harry perk up. This is business. “I need you and Galahad here, _ASAP_.”

“Dr. Scott blabbed?” Eggsy says, pulling on a pair of pants.

“It’s time,” is all Merlin says.

Just like that, the illusion is broken. They pull on their suits, slip on their shoes, and make the silent drive to London HQ.

 

“Dr. Scott was quite willing to talk about the machine,” Merlin says, just a touch disappointed. “We rushed, but it’s for the best that we send Galahad back as soon as possible.”

It’s like he’s using the codename to distance himself from the fact that Harry will be gone _again_ , but Eggsy refuses to do the same. “You’re sendin’ Harry back _wit’out testin’ it?_ ”

“It’s okay, Gary,” Harry says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Bors, but it’s for the best,” Merlin repeats. He does genuinely look sorry. “I’ll need to talk to Galahad before he goes.”

Harry nods and then turns back to Eggsy. “This is yours,” he says, placing an old key into his palm. 

“Wot? ‘Arry, listen,” Eggsy says, shaking his head even as he pockets the key. “Jus’ be careful, yeah? Stay away from churches --”

“ _Bors_ ,” Merlin says firmly.

Harry cups Eggsy’s cheek when he sees the despair in his eyes and continues talking, ignoring the information willfully given. “It’s for underneath the desk in the office. The code is ‘1982’. Don’t forget to check, Eggsy.” With one last long kiss, Harry breaks away from him and follows Merlin into his office. 

Eggsy gapes after him, frozen to the spot. ( _Eggsy, ‘e called me Eggsy._ )

 

Harry follows Merlin into the office, because if he stays with Eggsy any longer, he’ll run the risk of deciding not to go back, to go on the lamb with the man instead. He doesn’t want to do that to Merlin, to himself, or, most of all, to the man he’s fallen in love with. His presence is already painful enough. 

“You know you can’t say a word about what’s happened,” Merlin says, putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Harry lays his own on top of it. “Of course.”

“Nothing can change.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll miss you, Harry,” Merlin says, his accent thick.

Harry embraces him. “Of course.”

Then Merlin leads him to the room they’ve got the device in and gives him instructions, and he stands still in front of it as his older friend expertly types a line of code into the computer it’s hooked up to. The light blinds him again.

He doesn’t tell Merlin that he doesn’t think he _has_ to change anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it might seem rushed, but it is a somewhat sort fic (only about 14,000 in four chapters). I did add a fifth chapter, too, but it'll be a set of two alternate endings (both happy - I need some fluff haha) based off some ideas I had from a comment on the first chapter.
> 
> (Also, please tell me if the smut was awful... I've only written smut twice before - once in a fic and once during a RP so I'm not exactly experienced at it whoops)
> 
> Next chapter will be posted on Thursday!


	3. Dazed and Confused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's perspective through scenes from the first two chapters, starting from the moment he lands in the future.

_"Now, if you'll excuse me, Dr. Scott, I'll be taking that with me," he drawls as he smoothes out his suit jacket with a smug grin._

_Which promptly leaves his face as the man frantically finishes typing a line of code into the small (for the time) computer by the machine. The clunky mishmash of metal scraps and wires is whirring and lighting up. He's vaguely aware of Merlin shouting in his ear._

_"Merlin, I think I may be in need of some assistance."_

 

The light doesn’t just blind him -- it throws him. Harry hits the ground with a painful thud, but he doesn’t groan, just attempts to get a feel for his surroundings without opening his eyes, which he suspects will be mostly useless until the effects of the light go away. 

“Merlin?” a young male voice says frantically, and Harry’s confused. “ _Merlin?_ ”

Then a shoe nudges him, and, reacting instinctually, he grips it and pulls. The momentum allows him to scramble up into a crouch, though he almost falls back on his arse when the man forcefully rips out of the hold, and then he gets a good look at his opponent, dressed impeccably in a suit and tie and oxfords and standing alert with -- with _an umbrella_ in hand.

Like Harry. Like a _Kingsman._

“Galahad,” Merlin says in his ear. The crackly sound of his brogue over the feed is a relief. “Galahad, _stand down._ ”

What? “Merlin?” He doesn’t know this agent, and although Harry doesn’t know every single agent, usually Merlin only sends those he does know for backup.

“Stand down, Galahad, before you kill my favorite agent.” His voice is shaky, and, Harry notes, a bit different than usual.

Still, he can tell it is Merlin. “Here, I thought _I_ was your favorite,” he says, letting the fight fade from his limbs.

“I’m your favorite?” the other man says.

Harry quirks an eyebrow at the familiarity in the interaction.

“I tolerate you, _both_ of you -- Bors, I take back what I said,” Merlin says.

_What?_ Harry _knows_ Bors, and this man in front of him is _not_ old, uptight, constantly clearing his throat Bors. “Bors?” he asks, tensing in anticipation again. He’s not sure how they managed to replicate Merlin’s voice, but --

“Look around you, Galahad. It’s not 1982.”

And he does, seeing a device that resembles a computer but much, much thinner -- much more telling, however, is the gray threaded through Dr. Scott’s hair (and he recognizes him well enough) and the fact that he’s not in the same room he was in when the light first blinded him. It’s all too fantastical, though, and he needs proof that he hasn’t just been knocked out and is dreaming himself into one of those old sci-fi films.

He only vaguely hears Merlin continue, “Galahad, meet Bors. Bors, Galahad.”

“Wait, Merlin, is ‘e --” ‘Bors’ says shakily, and even in his confused state, it makes Harry curious.

“I think so, Bors.”

The other agent sits down at stares at him, and Harry stares back. Who is this man to him? He seems to be familiar with Harry, too, if his pained gaze is any indicator, and it irritates Harry that he doesn’t know.

 

“You can verify this?” he says to Merlin.

“Of course,” Merlin says, and that in itself is comforting, because it might be possible to duplicate a voice, but to get all of the tones if it? Even Merlin’s annoying smug tone? Less probable.

Still, smug Merlin usually means Harry’s in for it, so he grimaces. It’s slightly amusing to see Bors grimace as well. If the man was close with Merlin as well, he figures they could get along. At least for long enough to send him back to his own time.

“During your loyalty trial --” Merlin continues, and _fuck_ , Harry should have guessed that was coming.

He stops him before he can get to the details. “I believe that’s quite enough,” he says. And then his weak legs almost send him crashing to the floor, but Bors is there to keep him from falling, the man’s arm strong against his back. He again wonders _just who_ this man is to him, to his future self.

“I got ya, bruv.”

Four simple words are all that he says, but if not for Bors’ support, he’d have fallen over at the sound of them, because he has _never_ met ( _has never even imagined_ ) a Kingsman agent with anything other than a posh accent. Not with the disdain he’s seen on some of the others’ faces when the subject of the working class comes up. Merlin is one of the few others open to the possibility, willing to talk about it with Harry, but he still never dreamed he’d ever hear anything like it from another agent. He finds it’s quite nice to hear after the dull blathering of his colleagues.

Embarrassingly enough, it has him a bit starstruck. “Are you sure you’re a Kingsman agent?” 

“‘M the odd one out, I know,” Bors says, almost daring Harry to object.

“It’s quite refreshing,” he says and wants to expand on it, to say that he’s glad this man has replaced the haughty Bors Harry knows, but then he feels the churning of his stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

He is. Bors finds him a bin.

 

And a chair. Harry’s pride bristles at the thought of sitting on the chair and being pushed out of the building like some kind of invalid, but he’s also not stupid, so he sits on the damn thing and is extremely grateful when Bors gives him the machine to hold. At least he’ll be useful.

Bringing the machine up to eye level with trembling arms, he examines it, catalogues the differences. It’s much smaller than the one he was supposed to steal. The same basic structure is there, though, and he absently wonders if the code is the same, too.

“It’s much smaller than the version I encountered,” he says. It really is. The other machine was at least four times as big by his estimation.

“Light enuff’ for ya, yeah?”

“Of course,” he says mildly. In the silence that follows, he can’t keep him mind from wandering. Where is he? _When_ is he? And the ever present question of what ties exist between him and Bors. He starts with an easier question. “I don’t suppose you could tell me what year it is?”

“‘’N cause one of them paradox things? Sorry, bruv, but I’ve seen the movies, and I ain’t gonna be responsible for the end of the world.”

Merlin chuckles, and it dashes any half-arsed hopes Harry had for answers. “I’m not sure it works like that, Bors, but good thinking. Sorry, Galahad, but it’s for the best.”

 

They make it to headquarters and head to Merlin’s office. The path is similar, but it’s obvious that everything has been updated somewhat since Harry’s time, and he makes note of all of the changes. _Especially_ the technology. Agents pass them in the halls with flat devices, tapping away at the screens, and all of the computers in Merlin’s office at smaller than he’s used to. 

And Merlin’s head is smaller than he’s used to, too. He can’t help but gape at the lack of hair -- the hair that the Scotsman cared for more than the rest of his appearance, that Harry was always whacked with a clipboard for jokingly trying to touch. It’s gone. Harry doubles over, laughing uncontrollably. _It’s gone._

“I apologize, Merlin,” he says when the laughter eases. Merlin’s glare is making it hard to stifle the remaining chuckles. “It’s just -- your _hair._ ”

“Yes, Harry?” 

Oh, _fuck_ , he’s in for it, but he just can’t stop the words that come out. “ _It’s gone_.”

“Merlin used to have hair?” Bors says as Harry’s tearing up with the effort to stay silent, and, for the first time, Harry notices the pug that’s now wagging his tail by the agent’s feet.

“Not you, too,” Merlin groans. “ _This_ is why I shave.”

Harry puts a hand on Bors’ shoulder for support because of his weak legs but also in an attempt at comfort. There’s something in the man’s voice that says he’s not alright by any means. “Oh, he _loved_ that hair. Don’t worry, Merlin, I think you still look quite dashing.”

The pug sniffs his leg, and he smiles. (Is Mr. Pickles waiting for him somewhere?)

“Just -- _sit down_ , Harry,” Merlin says, frustrated, and points to a chair.

Knowing the time for joking around is over, Harry does as he says. This Merlin is a little scarier than his own, unfortunately.

“Good,” Merlin continues. “Now, we’ve got Dr. Scott in custody, and I’m sure he’ll be _very_ willing to explain his machine.” They all smirk -- until his next words. “But, in the meantime, Galahad cannot stay here.”

Harry scowls. It’s like he’s not even in the room. “I’m right here.”

“And that’s the problem,” Merlin says sharply. “Since the universe hasn’t imploded, I’m assuming we eventually find a way to send you back. _Without_ excessive knowledge of the future. I cannot let you stay here around all of the agents and tech. We’re lucky enough I remembered the frequency the old earpieces worked on.”

It’s a valid point, _of course_ Harry knows it’s a valid point, but that doesn’t mean he has to _like_ it. Everything around him is so interesting and different.

“Can I split?” Bors says.

Harry almost wants to ask the same thing, but he knows Merlin won’t him go.

“Not yet, _Gary_ ,” Merlin says.

_Gary?_ At least he has a name now. If it _is_ the agent’s real name and not just a fake one to satisfy him. It’s irritating, but he knows Merlin isn’t stupid. He’ll do what he has to do, regardless of their friendship.

“‘N why not?” the agent says.

_So his name is Gary_ , Harry thinks, focusing in on him. He’s a spy, he’s observant, and they don't _seem_ to be lying to him about this, so he’ll watch for any other clues he can get. Maybe he’ll even be able to piece the date together.

“Because,” Merlin says with a smirk (Harry glances at him warily), “Harry’s going home with _you_.”

“Wot?” Bors blurts out, his dog barking at his feet in agreement.

_Curious._ Why would he be so shocked?

“You heard me,” Merlin says.

“Why don’’ _you_ take ‘im?”

What happened between him and this man? There are so many pieces of information floating around his head, but he still can’t piece them together. _Usually_ , he thinks, irritated, _it’s Merlin’s job to piece things together._ But he’s all alone in this future, and if anything, he can take the experience as a test at being more independent as an agent. Sometimes, after all, the tech agents couldn’t get through to their ear pieces.

“Around all the office? Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I don’t spend much time _out_ of headquarters.”

“But --”

“He’s best off with you. You don’t know as much as I do.”

So they must not have known each other for _too_ long. Harry likes Bors so far, and with how close the agent is to Merlin, he’s sure they would have been close enough to make this risky if they’d known each other for years. He files away the speculation.

“But -- but wot abou’ Lancelot or Percival or, _I dunno, Kay?_ ”

“And introduce him to more agents? No, it’s best to keep this contained as much as possible.”

He’s had enough of being ignored. “I promise I won’t be in your way,” he says, staring at Bors.

“You’ll have to keep an eye on him, Gary,” Merlin says, “no matter _what_ he says.”

It only takes a moment, and Harry can see exactly when Bors gives in. _Curious, curious._

“‘N where am I suppos’d to keep ‘im then?”

“At your house,” Merlin says, like it’s a given.

But Bors apparently doesn’t think so, because he gapes at Merlin, and Harry resists the urge to ask. He knows he won’t get an answer.

“If we confine him to a safe house, he’ll find a way out,” Merlin continues.

Harry smirks because it’s true, because he’s already thinking of ways he could distract Bors if he needed to. (Not that he thinks he’ll actually need any of those plans, because Bors and this whole situation is just too _intriguing_ for him to leave.)

“‘M not responsible for ‘im finding anything out.”

“He’d find a way to regardless of who was watching him,” Merlin says. “And might I suggest taking a car?”

“I’m feeling better,” Harry protests, because he’s a secret agent and he can take care of himself, _dammit_. “I believe I could walk if it’s not far.”

 

“ _That’s_ what I’m afraid of,” Merlin says.

 

It’s his house. Bors -- no, _Gary_ \-- lives in _his_ house. 

Harry is all too sure he’s dead. There’s an obituary in the paper archives for him, a tombstone in some cemetery. He wonders briefly if Gary and Merlin cried for him.

“You live here?” he says flatly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, getting out of the car with the pug trailing after him. 

Harry takes a minute to compose himself. _I’m dead_ , he thinks and swallows heavily. _I’m dead._ He knew it was coming. They all had to die at _some_ point. But it’s clear that he didn’t die of old age -- not with Merlin still looking far from retirement -- which means that he died on a mission. It’s been a while since the last mission-related death of a Kingsman.

He gets out of the car to see an older blonde woman approaching Gary. They’re clearly familiar with each other, and when he looks close enough, Harry determines the woman is likely Gary’s mother. She looks at him, startled.

He sighs, again wondering who Gary is to Harry Hart. 

The woman hugs Gary tightly. “Yeah, you know how she is. Light sleeper, tha’ one. I’ll bring ‘er right out. Could you feed ‘er soon? She’s been wantin’ some of your pancakes, and I _‘pparently_ don’ do ‘em righ’.”

They grin at each other. (Are _Harry’s_ parents still alive?)

“No problem, Mum,” Gary says and then turns to Harry. “You okay with tha’?”

The problem is that he didn’t hear _what_ he should be okay with. Presumably, the agent’s sister coming over. Harry blinks. “You didn’t plan on entertaining a guest, so it would be rude of me to protest you going about your normal day.”

Instead of just accepting his politeness, Gary rolls his eyes. “You okay wit’ it or not?”

Which makes Harry smile. He’s already fond of the man’s bluntness. “It’s not a problem.”

 

His sister is also easy to be fond of, as Harry finds out shortly. She’s still young (from another marriage, he assumes, studying the shape of her face, still round with baby fat) but she’s observant -- her eyes have not left his face, and it’s almost as if she’s studying him as well. Not even the smell of the pancakes cooking is enough to distract her. (Though Harry’s almost distracted by the amusingly sweet picture of her brother wearing an apron over his Kingsman suit.)

A smile drifts over his face, and she giggles. He definitely does not mind her presence.

“Gary,” he says, realizing that he hasn’t been to the loo in hours ( _years_ , technically), “could you point me to the facilities?”

He does so absently, but the directions are easy to follow. Harry walks down the hall and easily locates the door. Upon opening it, however, he feels his heart stop and then lurch back into action, because, _well_ , Mr. Pickles _is_ apparently waiting for him at home. The rest of the house he could brush off as it being pre-furnished for Gary. They had done it for Harry, and Harry wasn’t there enough to care to change much of it, so it stood to reason that Gary was the same way. This, however, was different. Gary had no obvious reason to keep Harry’s dead, stuffed dog.

“Is that -- _Mr. Pickles?_ ” he stutters out, vaguely aware that Gary is behind him now.

“Yeah? I mean, yeah, tha’’s Mr. Pickles.”

“Oh,” he says and looks closer despite the pain in his chest at the sight. The dog looks a little older, sure, but his fur is the same beautiful color as it always was. It’s well-taken care of, in fact. “Did you -- did you _brush him?_ ”

“Yeah. Mondays and Thursdays.”

His chest still aches, but there’s a warmth there, too. _Of course_ he knows Merlin cares about him. They’ve been friends since Harry’s Kingsman test, and he’s sure they were friends all the way up until his death. But he doubts even Merlin would take care of Mr. Pickles like this for him. “Ah.”

“You wanna use the loo upstairs?”

“No, thank you,” he says. He needs to do this. “You should check in on Ms. Rian, Gary.”

“Okay,” Gary mutters and leave, not seeing the way Harry scratches behind Mr. Pickles’ ears before closing the door. 

 

Although Harry knows not to assume, it’s hard to keep himself from piecing together all of the clues he has so far. Because, _really_ , he doesn’t have much concrete. Just feelings and impressions, and he won’t get anything more without either pushing Gary or distracting him.

“You sure you don’ mind?” Gary says, pulling Harry out of his musings.

“Not at all, though I promise you, Gary -- you don’t have to watch me every minute of the day,” he replies, amused.

Gary scoffs at him. “Stop actin’ innocent, ‘Arry. You’re goin’ bonkers not knowin’ anythin’. Admit it.”

“You seem to know quite a lot about me,” Harry says, taking ahold of the opportunity. “Were we close?”

“Oh, no, you ain’t gonna get a word from me.” But his face is pinched, his frame tense. If Harry just nudged him…

“Really now? Perhaps Merlin was right to send me off with you, if we weren’t close,” he says nonchalantly, watching Rian stare at two different children’s films.

_Bingo._ Gary glares at him. “‘N who’s tuh say we ain’t close _now?_ ”

To deliver the final blow, Harry locks gazes with him and says, “I imagine it would be hard to be ‘close’ with a dead man. Unless that’s your thing, of course.”

Gary looks like Harry’s just killed his whole family, and he can feel a pang in his chest at the sheer pain in the man’s eyes, but he _cannot_ stop now.

“Ah, so I was correct,” he continues.

“How?” Gary says, and it’s strained.

“Well I’m certainly not around anymore. None of my preferred foods were in the fridge, and the soap by all of the sinks is much too rough on the skin for my tastes. If I was just gone, however, I would have taken my things with me -- or, at the very least, I would have taken Mr. Pickles. Should I go on?” And he could -- the way Gary looks at him like he’s causing the man pain just existing, the way Gary meticulously cares for Mr. Pickles twice a week, the way he hadn’t bothered to move out of the house that no doubt causes him so much pain.

“‘Ggy, ‘Ggy,” Rian says, breaking up the tension as she struggles to climb up onto the couch.

“Good choice, Princess,” Gary says to her, and Harry knows his opportunity is over.

 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long for another to pop up.

Harry is exhausted, and he _does_ fall asleep on the couch not long into the movie, but he’s also a trained spy, which means he’s a light sleeper by necessity. He’s awake as soon as Gary gets off the couch.

“C’mon, Princess,” he hears Gary whisper. “I got you.”

Even the dog follows, leaving Harry alone. There’s no telling just how long he’ll have to himself, so he needs to go where he’s likely to get the most information -- his office. The last time he was there, only seven front pages graced the walls, but, slipping into the room silently, he sees that there are many, _many_ more. Although he has no statistics to compare, there are quite a few missions on the wall, enough to mean he’s likely quite an efficient agent. It pleases him, of course, though the headlines themselves won’t help him much. (He does glance at the dates on the last few and determines he died sometime in 2015 -- and isn’t _that_ weird to know. At least he’s got thirty-three years left.)

The false bottom on the underside of his desk is still there.

He grins, finds the key taped to the top of one of the drawers, and carefully crawls underneath. It opens easily enough, but, unlike thirty-three years ago, there’s also an electronic door only openable with a pin. Which he doesn’t have.

Logically, he knows he wouldn’t have used anything too simple like his birthday or year, or even Gary’s. But Harry’s also not the best at remembering random number configurations (to Merlin’s dismay), so it must be something guessable. An idea has been growing in the back of his head for hours now, and it seems so silly, but if he’s right, he _needs_ to get into this safe.

Figuring he has nothing to lose, Harry types in ‘1982’ and hits the green button. The panel slides sideways into the desk, a hidden drawer lowering silently.

This is where he kept extra money and passports under different aliases, just in case he needed to get out of the country without Kingsman’s help, and he finds a few of them still clipped and rubber-banded together, but there’s also an envelope addressed to him. 

In his own handwriting.

Inside there are two letters. The first is simply addressed to _Harry_ , but the other, curiously enough, is addressed to _Eggsy_.

 

He destroys the letter to himself, just as instructed, and tucks Eggsy’s letter back into the drawer before settling back down on the couch as if he’d never left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this cleared some things up! (Though you'll have to wait until the next chapter for what's in the letters...) Next chapter will be the original ending I wrote, and the chapter after that will have two alternate endings, so we're almost at the end!


	4. Then and Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Hart is a romantic, but things are never as easy as they seem in the movies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No matter how bad it gets, remember there _is_ a happy ending.

It’s practically as if he never left.

“Galahad?” Merlin shouts in his ear. “ _Galahad?_ ”

“Right here, Merlin,” he says tiredly as he picks himself up off the floor. 

“The feed cut out. Are you hurt?”

“Perfectly fine, dear. Oh, and cancel that order for assistance, will you?”

Dr. Scott (much younger than he saw him last) is pale and cursing, probably because he assumed Harry would be gone. Harry grins as he approaches. He actually feels a bit of fondness for this man, for all that his actions have unwittingly given Harry, so he decides to go easy on him – just a light whack to the back of the head, and he’s out. Now he just has to get the machine back to headquarters (slightly altered, of course, or it will change the future too drastically). Making the adjustments Future Merlin coached him on step by step, he destroys a key piece of the now useless machine. 

Step one: protect the future.

_Check._

Step two: wait.

 

He’s got thirty-three years or waiting ahead of him, and he tells himself every day that it’s worth it. It’s worth lying to Merlin, it’s worth collecting passports and identities he knows he’ll use in the future, and it’s worth all of Chester’s disapproval at his insistence for change. He knows it’s coming. _One day_ , he tells Chester wistfully, _agents will roam the halls with touch-screen computers_.

Chester tells him he’s being silly.

 

The first time he gets a honeypot mission after his trip, it falls flat. Usually he enjoys them – the chase, the hook, the way he takes them apart and steals the information/property/ _whatever_ he needs to complete the mission. He even enjoys the sex itself, because he’s a young man with a job that doesn’t really leave him enough time to go to bars or clubs let alone bring someone home for the night. It’s stress relief, plain and simple.

It falls flat after Eggsy. _Everything_ falls flat romantically and sexually after Eggsy, because he read the letters, remembers what they say day after day, and knowing that the love of his life is waiting for him makes it hard to enjoy stupid dalliances. They won’t measure up to Eggsy – his future self wrote that quite bluntly in his letter, and, well, Harry has no reason _not_ to believe him. (Once or twice, he considers that maybe the reason they don’t, _can’t_ , is that he won’t let them. He ignores those thoughts.)

So he seduces the daughter of their target, follows her to her bed, fucks her, and leaves with files stolen from her father’s study. It’s simple, it’s boring. 

It’s a silly thought, but he can’t help but dwell on the fact that he and Eggsy _hadn’t_ fucked. They’d made love. 

Because Harry had fallen in love with the way he talked, with his bluntness, with his love for his family, and with the way he loved _Harry_. Because Harry had fallen in love with him before he’d even read the letters.

Harry Hart is an incurable romantic.

 

Sometimes he allows himself to dwell on the memories.

 

_Waking up harder than he ever had before felt like a sin at first, because the man in his arms is grieving, and Harry resolved to stay still, to pretend to be asleep until it either went away or Eggsy woke up and got out of bed. His resolve is, of course, broken as soon as that arse pushes back against him wantonly and –_ that moan. _He briefly, quietly apologizes to his future self as his hips jerked forward instinctually._

_“Gary,” he says, his voice rougher than he hoped it would be. Again, he curses his arousal at such a terrible time._

_The body in his arms freezes before racing into action, frantically trying to pull away, but the movements are sloppy, tired. Harry holds onto him in a desperate attempt to keep him there, even if only for just enough time to explain and_ apologize.

_“Gary,” he says as softly as he can. “It’s okay. It’s a natural reaction.” He wants to believe it himself, but he knows his cock isn’t just hard because of sleep. He feels ashamed again._

_“You_ ain’t _him,” Eggsy says, and Harry feels like crying._

_“Not yet,” he says. The words are heavy in his throat._

_“I can’t do that to ‘im.”_

_Those are the words that hurt the most, because it’s becoming clearer and clearer that Eggsy’s feelings for Harry Hart are much deeper than the word _‘love’_ can convey, and briefly, Harry wonders if his own feelings would be so deep by the time he met Eggsy in his own future. No doubt, because what he feels for the man after less than twenty-four hours _greatly _surpasses_ ‘affection’ _and, if he is being honest with himself, is love._

_“He loved you, Gary,” he says firmly, knowing it to be true. “He’d want you to find comfort.” And if Eggsy found that comfort in his younger self? All the better. Though he knew when to back off, Harry has always been, at his very core, a possessive bastard._

_“No, ‘e didn’.”_

_It’s such_ utter bullshit _to Harry that he can’t help but respond, “I don’t believe that,” in the firmest tone he can muster. He knows, however, that he_ can’t _understand whatever Eggsy is going through, so he kisses the man’s shoulder softly in apology for any wrongs before continuing, “But if you don’t want to do this, I’ll let you go.” A great big part of himself desperately wants Eggsy to_ want _him and can’t bear to let him go until he gets an answer, so he just holds him, waits._

_As soon as Eggsy begins to shift, Harry loosens his hold and steels himself for the rejection that will no doubt come._

_“It’s wrong,” Eggsy says, and before Harry can pull away in shame for even suggesting the whole thing, the beautiful man in his arms leans in and kisses him._

_It’s hesitant. Still, Harry’s heart leaps, and he deepens the kiss, trying to show Eggsy just how he feels. It’s slow and intense and lasts as long as he can make himself go without the air, but even after he can_ barely _breathe, because there’s a leg between his own and that face – the_ first one _he saw in this time – is right in front of his own. He brushes away the drying tears he sees and asks, because he_ needs _to know before he proceeds, “Do you want this, Gary?”_

_“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”_

_Harry shifts Eggsy to strip him with a tenderness he’s never shown any of his past partners._

_“Harry?”_

_“Yes, Gary?” And how he_ hates _calling him that in this intimate moment._

_“Can I?”_

_He shows Eggsy his answer and revels in the way the man’s hands ease his own clothing off. Smiles are exchanged when they’re finally ready to do this, and Harry grabs the lube he found during his investigation of the room earlier. “How do you want this?” he says, kissing the trail of light hair on Eggsy’s stomach._

_“Jus’ fuck me, ‘Arry.”_

__Fuck. _He wants to, but it just isn’t the right time. It’s too intimate of a moment, and it would feel_ wasted _if he didn’t take the time to learn Eggsy’s body, the lines of it, the way it reacts. Gripping the lube tightly, Harry pours some out onto his fingers and gently teases Eggsy’s rim. And he definitely takes him time. Eggsy is squirming below him before he’s even slid the finger in, and when he does,_ finally _, they both moan lowly. One finger becomes two, becomes three, becomes_ four _fingers stretching and caressing until there’s no resistance anymore. The flush on Eggsy’s cheeks, the tears of pleasure slipping down the sides of his face have him mesmerized._

_But then the man cries out and arches off the bed, and Harry_ needs _to move this along._

_Lifting Eggsy’s legs up to rest around his hips, he strokes his cock once to coat it liberally in lube before slowly sinking in._ Fuck, _is it intense. Harry’s eyes screw shut, his body trembling with the effort to hold back._

_“Please.”_

_Harry groans and gasps out, “So polite,” but doesn’t move. He_ can’t _move._

_“_ Please _,” Eggsy says again, whimpering this time, and now Harry_ has to move.

Slowly, _he tells himself,_ Make this last. 

_He does. Pulling out as slowly as he can, he pauses briefly before rocking back in, easing himself into a steady rhythm of back and forth, back and forth. His thrusts, he manages to control, but his hands begin to wander, and he can’t help but stroke Eggsy everywhere, to lift his legs higher for better leverage to kiss him with, to intertwine their fingers and grip him tight. Eggsy’s own hands spur him on with their teasing at his neck._

_It lasts forever, it lasts no time at all. Eggsy’s body clings to him_ so well _until it’s clenching around him tightly in tandem with the whimpers of his name, and – Harry’s just_ gone _. He cries out a frantic_ Eggsy! _as his hips jerk forward to sink his cock as far as they can into that heat._

_It’s a while before he can move or think again, but even then, his first thought is of the man in his arms._

 

There are computer classes at the local college. Many of the other agents tease him for ‘lowering himself’ to attend classes with people who will likely never have a quarter of the money he has in the bank. For Harry, it’s common sense. The world in changing. Computers will be much smaller and much more powerful in a few decades time. Thin, portable phones will be commonplace. If he wants to keep up, he needs to start _now_. When he tells them that, they ask why he doesn’t just hang around the tech department. Better yet, why doesn’t he just _join_ the tech department. (He’ll never give them the satisfaction, despite how much he likes Merlin.)

And Merlin, well, Merlin has mixed feelings. 

“You know I could teach you, Harry,” Merlin says, flipping through the textbook Harry has taken to carrying around. 

“I know, Merlin.”

“I wouldn’t look down on you for it,” he continues.

“I know,” Harry says fondly. “But I want to branch out.”

Within four years, not even Merlin can break into his computer. It’s not quite clear whether the man in question is more frustrated or more proud.

 

After a few years he does force himself to date again. None of them last more than a week, but he does learn to enjoy the dates, the sex. It’s never like it was with Eggsy, _never will be_ like it was with Eggsy. He’s okay with that.

Besides, no one is expecting him to settle down – not even as he enters his thirties, because Kingsman agents typically only come in three different varieties: those who were already in a serious relationship before joining, those who become involved with colleagues (usually those in the tech department), and those who stay single until the day they die. There are exceptions of course. It’s just difficult to hold onto someone when you have to lie about everything you do. Not to mention that there’s always the worry that they’ll become a target due to their ties to an agent, so most agents just avoid the whole mess by sticking to one night stands and relationships they know won’t last more than a week or two.

Harry Hart is not expected to ever marry. His married colleagues don’t talk about their spouses nor their children around him. He doesn’t ever bring it up, either, because he knows what they all think of him. 

Except for Merlin, because Merlin knows Harry isn’t cold or unfeeling, knows he doesn’t have commitment issues. He knows that Harry is simply committed to the organization, to his job, and that he doesn’t want to force someone to play second fiddle to that loyalty. (Merlin _doesn’t_ know that Harry is simply committed to a man that isn’t yet old enough to be considered a man, a man that won’t even know Harry’s name until he’s older and more bitter.)

 

Lee Unwin is different. Harry Hart likes different.

He doesn’t like the man _that_ way, of course, but Harry’s of the mind that he could be a breath of fresh air in an organization that is quickly coming to feel stuffy, polluted. Lee is blunt, is unapologetic about his working class accent, and has the skills to justify being chosen by Harry. At first, he’s wary of the posh gentleman’s offer (then, briefly insulted before Harry has the chance to explain himself), but eventually he accepts. He packs a small bag, gives his wife an excuse involving his military background, and follows his sponsor to the Kingsman training grounds.

He passes the water test easily. His aim is proven with a gun test. His obstacle course results are good enough to keep him in the running. He aces the written test, the stealth test, and the loyalty test with flying colors. He even passes the dog test, though _only_ , he confides in Harry later, because he could feel that the bullet was a blank.

But Gawain’s candidate passes, too. In the rare cases where more than one candidate passes all of the standard tests, the candidates are sent on real missions with real agents until they can be narrowed down to one remaining candidate. Lee and James make it through two separate missions together with different agents, and despite the fact that some of those agents were biased towards James for his background, none of them could deny that Lee is very, _very_ qualified. 

None of them can deny, except perhaps Arthur, that he is Kingsman material to the very end. 

 

“I very much regret that your husband’s bravery can’t be publicly celebrated. I hope you understand,” he says to the grieving woman.

Harry is too disgusted and ashamed with himself and his failings to realize just _why_ Michelle Unwin looks so familiar at first. Lee had, after all, been open about his family with Harry unlike his posh colleagues, and it could be that he just recognized her from a picture.

“How can I understand? You won’t tell me anything,” she says, and he’s struck again by the sound of her voice. “I didn’t even know he wasn’t with his squad.”

“I’m so sorry I can’t say more.”

He offers her the medal, the favor, but she refuses. It’s surprising only for a moment. He can’t even imagine her grief, though he briefly remembers the chilling sound of Eggsy’s screams, both incoherent and in the form of Harry’s name, and wonders if Michelle Unwin will wake up screaming for Lee, all because of him.

(It will always haunt him. He hears it sometimes in his nightmares, the sobs and the terror and the _Harry please_ ’s, as if through a wall, and try as he might to find Eggsy, to comfort him the way he did that day, Harry can’t ever find him. And there is not yet an Eggsy to hold and soothe Harry when he has these nightmares.)

It makes him all the more determined to leave the medal with her and her son. 

“What’s your name, young man?” he says, crouching down in front of the child too young to understand yet that his father isn’t coming home.

“Eggsy,” the boy says, and Harry’s world falls apart.

 

He spends seventeen years waiting for Eggsy to call the damn number, convinced that that’s how the boy (because he _is_ a boy, isn’t he? Harry’s _thirty years older_ than him now) will come back into his life. He’s right, of course, but _nothing_ has quite gone the way he’s expected since Lee. 

Posing himself by the stairs, he waits for Eggsy to leave the police station. _This_ is the moment in the movies where Eggsy would glance at him and be enamored or, at the very least, drawn to him the way Harry was initially was with ‘Bors’. But Eggsy is only wary of him. 

It gets better when the incident at the pub happens, because he can see the _awe_ on Eggsy’s face, but it still falls flat. (He misses the love in his eyes, so strong that he couldn’t even hide it from Harry.) It’s a step forward, sure.

Sending him back to an abusive house? Letting his brute of a stepfather threaten him with a knife? Several steps back. It means that Harry gets to swoop in and be the hero as soon as he has absolute proof that Eggsy won’t say a word, but there’s no snogging afterwards – even after a few well-placed romantic movie references – and Harry’s fondness for the films starts to die. 

Harry Hart is a romantic, but this is real life.

And then things start to go tits up. He ends up in a coma even before Eggsy finishes his Kingsman test. (Though his heart is warmed when he realizes just how often he heard Eggsy’s voice while he was out, just how often Eggsy visited him even just to sit next to him, and though he can’t confirm it, he swears there were times he could feel Eggsy’s hand in his.) This serves to remind him that his time is almost up – 2015 is fast approaching, and he has no idea _when_ during the year he ‘dies’. It’s scary enough that he sits down directly afterwards to write the short letters he still vividly remembers reading so long ago, telling himself that he’ll have more time with Eggsy as soon as he becomes Bors. (He doesn’t dwell on the fact that the current Bors has to die first.) He goes on a few more Valentine-related missions. Then, after a wonderful (unfortunately platonic) night of just _being_ together, he loses his temper.

In his defence, he wasn’t prepared for Eggsy to fail. He, of course, knew the new Lancelot would be someone _else_ (Roxy, he determined as they watched Charlie fail the loyalty test spectacularly), but he figures the dog test would go the same way as Lee’s – he and Roxy would both pass, and they’d go on missions until one of them could be picked. Presumably, Bors would die before either Roxy or Eggsy were weeded out. Roxy would become Lancelot, Eggsy would become Bors, and Harry could focus on his looming ‘death’.

Instead, he tells Eggsy how disappointed he is in him – shouts it at him, in fact. When he is called away to go to Kentucky, he tells himself that he has time to make it right.

 

He’s excusing himself from the pew when he remembers his Eggsy’s last words to him.

_“Jus’ be careful, yeah? Stay away from churches --”_

He doesn’t have time.

 

_Harry,_

_As you read this letter, the love of our life is in our bed, mourning our death. Eggsy – Gary, as you know him – is underestimated far too often, and even I am guilty of doing so, as you will be, too. I’ve waited for him for over thirty years, unaware of how strong his presence in my heart was._

_Take note – he is my, our, heart, and no one you ever meet will be able to replace him. I find myself sharing everything with him, even things I have not shared with Merlin. Cherish him. Thirty years of loneliness is nothing compared to the time I’ve had with him by my side, and if you look into his eyes, you’ll understand far better than you would any explanation I could give. Take care of him for me; he’ll need it until I can come back for him._

_Harry_

 

Except he _does_ have time, because Valentine is a fucking awful shot. He was so sure that he was still alive, _somewhere_ , when he fell into the future. It was just a feeling with only some vague evidence to support it, and in the church he realized that not all of his assumptions were real, but he’s glad he is right this time.

It doesn’t stop his heart from breaking when he does what he has to do. Ever since coming back, he’s been careful to bring some of his passports and extra currency with him on missions, so he’s set to go, to pretend to be dead, but all he can think about is Eggsy.

Eggsy, who never even glimpsed at the love Harry had for him.

Eggsy, who would become a member of the organization that killed his father and sent the man he loved to his death.

Eggsy, who would move into Harry’s house instead of with his mother and baby sister and who would brush Mr. Pickles twice a week even though remembering Harry meant crippling nightmares.

Harry wakes up crying most nights.

 

It ends up being just over a year before he can go back. Keeping an eye on Dr. Scott, it’s all too easy to tell when he is taken to Kingsman along with a young Harry Hart and a fried time machine. Just to be safe, Harry waits nearly a month after the man’s disappearance to go back to London.

 

Eggsy races through the streets, desperate to go back to the house. Part of him wants to curl up in the bed they never re-made, to smell the scent of him and Harry intertwined, but he knows what he must do first. The key burns in his pocket all the way home.

When he does arrive, he slams the door shut behind him and runs to the office, falling down to his knees in front of the desk. This desk, where Harry sat and smiled at him the night before his last test, where he sat and watched Harry take a bullet to the head, where Eggsy sits every time he needs to get so drunk to forget the pain for a little while.

This desk, where something has been waiting for him for a _long_ time.

It takes a few tries to get the key in, and tremors run through his hands as he punches the code in, but eventually the hidden drawer is sliding down, and he gets his hand on a folded sheet of paper.

_Eggsy,_

_Please know that I’ve loved you for thirty-three years. Everything about you is dear to me – your smile, your voice, your heart. From the very moment we met, I was intrigued, and before I left, I was in love. I only regret that I never had the chance to say it aloud._

_Please forgive me._

_Until we meet again,  
Harry_

He cries himself to sleep right there on the floor.

 

Harry comes back on a Tuesday.

It’s a pretty dreary day, so the plain umbrella he uses to shield his face isn’t out of place as he walks down the street to the shop. He enters, leaves it in the stand by the door, greets the agent they have stationed at the front, and strolls right through to the back and heads to the main office. When he gets there, Merlin is waiting, pale-faced and white-knuckled.

“Hello, Merlin,” he says cheerfully.

He gets a fist to the face in response.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he says, holding a handkerchief up to his bleeding nose.

“You did,” Merlin says flatly.

“I wanted to come back earlier, but I had to wait for my original visit to play out.”

“He’s gotten worse. Because of _you_. Because of _whatever_ was in your desk.”

“I thought it would help,” Harry whispers.

“It _didn’t_ ,” Merlin snaps, but he hugs Harry all the same. “I missed you, you bloody bastard.”

“I missed you, too, dear,” Harry quips.

“I won’t hold him back if he wants a go at you.”

“I wouldn’t want you to.”

 

Merlin brings him to the main conference room and tells him how Eggsy saved the world, his own pride bleeding through his words and putting a wide smile on Harry’s face. His Eggsy has done so much, and even after losing Harry, he’s had a support net.

“He’s in the training room with Lancelot,” Merlin explains, tapping away at his tablet to send for them. “If you’re lucky, he’ll be too tired to punch first.”

Harry winces. It’s a long time before there’s a knock at the door, and he’s almost fidgeting with how high his anxiety is.

“Come in, you two,” Merlin calls out.

The door opens. Roxy is the first one through, and she looks more confident than she was the last time Harry saw her. It’s refreshing to see her grow into her position. He smiles at her as her mouth goes slack.

Then Eggsy comes in. _Oh Eggsy,_ he thinks, his heart stuttering. He looks unkept, and though there is some color in his cheeks (likely from a sparring match), there are dark bags under his eyes and he looks a few steps away from the grave. The way his eyes widen makes the image all the more painful.

“Eggsy,” Harry says, standing up suddenly.

“ _‘Arry?_ ” he says. His brow furrows.

“I’m here.”

Eggsy darts forward, and Harry steels himself for another punch, a kick, _something_ , but then arms are wrapping around his back, there’s a head buried in his chest, and they’re both trembling together.

“I’m here,” he says again. “I’m here.”

He’s vaguely aware of Merlin herding Roxy out of the room and shutting the door behind them.

“You’re such an arsehole,” Eggsy murmurs into his chest. “Leavin’ me that letter and keepin’ me in the dark.”

Harry hugs him tighter. “I’m so sorry, Eggsy.”

Pulling his head up, Eggsy stares at his face and runs his fingers gently over his bruising nose. “Did you really?”

Harry looks at him, confused. “Did I what?”

“Love me for thirty-three years?” he says softly, his face full of wonder.

“Thirty-four,” Harry corrects. “And I’ll love you for at least another thirty-four whether you’ll have me or not.”

Eggsy kisses him slowly, lovingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I waited so long to put it up! I got some requests on the last chapter for Harry's POV of the smut and ended up writing another 1000+ words for it. Plus upon reading through I realized I had to tweak the wording of the letters.
> 
> This is the official, original ending. But there is one more chapter! My finals are starting soon, but the extra chapter is already finished, so I should be able to get it up on Monday, following the every other day schedule. 
> 
> Also, I have to admit that I cried at the end while reading through the chapter to beta it. _Actual tears._


	5. What If...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if...
> 
> 1\. Harry doesn't survive Valentine's shot, but Dr. Scott can't fix the time machine anyway.
> 
> 2\. Dr. Scott can't fix the machine, and they have to figure out what to do with _two_ Harry Harts.
> 
> AKA two ways Harry Hart's travel through time could have gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> JUST SO YOU KNOW: the second part is Harry/Eggsy/Harry (with smut). I don't know if that makes anyone uncomfortable. If it does, just stop at the bolded "Percival and Galahad" (the beginning of ending #2) or if just the smut bothers you, stop at the line about them sleeping in bed together after the mission. Ending #1 (After I'm gone) is much shorter than ending #2, however.
> 
> Also, the italicized portions at the beginning of each are to show where in the story they begin. #1 starts in chapter 2, and #2 actually splits off from #1 during the scene with the letter.
> 
> Enjoy!

**After I’m gone.**

_So they eat bread and cheeses and meats between kisses until their stomachs are full and there are more kisses than bites and the bites become nips of each other’s skin. Harry loved Eggsy in a way that no one ever had before, though he certainly wasn’t a virgin, and Eggsy, baring all of his feelings without uttering a word, returns the favor._

 

He doesn’t want to get out of the bed. He doesn’t want to leave the warmth of it, the warmth of _Harry_. The other man is right there in front of him, his face slack with sleep, his hair mussed with sex, and what Eggsy wants is to take in that image forever.

“I thought I tired you out,” Harry muses. His voice is drowsy, fond. Opening one eye, he smiles slowly.

“I’ve gotta piss,” Eggsy mutters back, remembering why he woke up in the first place.

Harry chuckles and shuts his eyes. “Go on then,” he says.

It’s overwhelmingly domestic for two blokes who have barely known each other for a day, who had sex without even knowing each other’s names (in Harry’s case, at least), but, as Eggsy slips back into bed to another deep kiss, he finds that he doesn’t mind.

 

The things he knows about Lee Unwin could barely fill a piece of paper, but it’s better than knowing nothing, even if Michelle only ever talked about him whenever he was a _fucking mess_ over Harry. (The first time was after a nightmare that left him catatonic in bed for nearly ten hours before she’d found him.) According to his mum, Eggsy’s father was the type who fell in love quickly and with all he had. He’d even had the engagement ring picked out before their first month anniversary -- a full eight months before he asked. (“‘N what if I’d said no? A bloody idiot, your da’,” she said, running her fingers through his hair soothingly.) He always told her he’d do anything for her and, as she admitted in a soft voice, she believed him. Eggsy was the same way. (“I wish, for your sake, you wasn’t,” she said and hugged him tight.)

Lee Unwin had fallen in love with Michelle Rogers the moment she had smiled at him in her waitress uniform, her notepad in hand. They dated. They were married. They had a son and lived happily, if not tight on money, right up until the day he jumped on a grenade.

Eggsy Unwin fell in love with Harry Hart as the man finished his pint.

That was that. There was no love story there -- just a boy pining after a man who would never look at him with anything resembling lust or romantic love. A boy that would cry himself to sleep most nights after the man’s death.

The Harry in his bed, he told himself, was not _his_ Harry. But he was awful tempting.

This Harry, unlike the other, looked at Eggsy with warm eyes. This Harry woke him up with long, smooth strokes of his cock. This Harry snogged him like Eggsy was the thing he treasured most.

This Harry was not his Harry, but the other Harry was never really _his Harry_ to begin with, and, for the first time, Eggsy found that himself okay with that.

 

They spend the mornings in bed, because, as he discovers rather quickly, Harry Hart is _not_ a morning person. Merlin’s got Eggsy listed as being on a private, long term mission, so it’s okay to be lazy together. Breakfast is simple, eaten in the kitchen in their robes. Lunch is usually cold. Some days they watch over Rian, and Harry learns that the girl is just as likely to pick an old musical off the shelf as she is to beg to watch Brave again.

She learns to call him _‘‘Rry’_.

The first time Eggsy hears it, he excuses himself to the office and calls Merlin.

“Eggsy?” the man answers tiredly.

“It’s been two weeks, Merlin,” he says. “We any closer?”

There’s silence on the other end of the line, and Eggsy knows the answer isn’t what he wants to hear.

“ _Merlin_ ,” he says desperately.

“Dr. Scott has been trying to make it work in reverse for _decades_ , Eggsy,” the man says finally.

“‘E’s here for good?” Eggsy whispers.

“Very likely, yes.”

 

“Eggsy,” Eggsy says abruptly once Rian is gone. “E’ryone calls me that. Eggsy. Not Gary.”

“It fits,” Harry says, smiling.

 

They have a very short window to send him back, Merlin explains to both of them when he visits the house later. Harry would have to be sent back to the very moment in time he’d disappeared for it to work, and it just wouldn’t be feasible if he suddenly looked older. The words don’t really hit Eggsy until much later.

Harry doesn’t seem fazed.

“Everything important to me before is right here,” he says calmly, dicing onion for dinner. “Along with a few extras.”

The smile he gives Eggsy almost makes him cry.

“Even Mr. Pickles,” Harry continues with a quip.

 

  
The next morning, he finds Harry silent in his office.

“I have something to admit, Eggsy,” he says, staring at an envelope on the desk.

Eggsy doesn’t say a word.

“I found this the first day. I believe you should read it.”

 

 

It’s a letter from Harry -- from _his_ Harry. Eggsy cries for the life he could have had. (Young Harry is there for him.)

 

(He doesn’t tell Eggsy about the other letter, the one that simply said,

_Harry,_

_His name is Eggsy. Cherish him for me while you can. He’ll need someone after I’m gone._

_Harry._ )

 

Eggsy is needed back at Kingsman, and with it becoming clear that Harry will be around for much longer than they can spare the agent, Merlin is forced to put him back on active duty. He and Harry adjust. Breakfasts are still Eggsy’s to make (because Harry is _much_ too incoherent in the mornings to work a stove), but Harry insists on helping him dress. Eggsy goes to headquarters, does any missions he gets, and then comes back home to dinner and sex and cuddles with the man he shouldn’t love but is already much too invested in.

Their routine is ever changing. Harry, despite his young age, is still Galahad, and keeping a trained spy ignorant and busy around a house, _all alone_ , is not really possible. First, Eggsy gives him the password to his glasses feed, because living the life vicariously through Eggsy is better than nothing, right?

The third time Harry kicks Merlin off the commlink to direct Eggsy out of a situation, they give up on that, too. ( _How_ he managed to do it with his limited knowledge of 1980s era technology is still a mystery, but every time anyone asks, he merely smirks.)

So Harry Hart once again takes up the mantle of Galahad, which was still an empty position, because finding and training four new recruits to fill the roles of the three fallen agents (Galahad, Gareth, and Bedivere) as well as the role of Percival, who became their new Arthur, was _fucking hard_. And Harry? Already trained. Still unfamiliar with the world around him, he spends an entire year going on missions with other agents and getting back into the swing of things.

Another year passes after that before Arthur officially closes the mission to find a way to send him back.

 

  
There’s a firmness to his jaw that wasn’t there before, Eggsy notices one morning. He’s filled out a bit, too, his torso no longer as skinny. Harry is still the young man he was nearly three years ago, but now there’s no risk. There won’t ever come a day when Merlin calls to tell him he has to say goodbye.

“ _Mine_ ,” Eggsy murmurs against Harry’s skin between kisses in amazement. “All mine.”

Harry tilts his head to give him more room. “And what else would I be, if not yours?”

Burrowing his head in Harry’s shoulder, Eggsy closes his eyes and takes in the scent, the feel of his skin.

“Are you mine, Eggsy?”

He kisses Harry’s neck. “ _‘Course_.”

 

  
He learns to stop comparing this Harry to the other. He’ll always miss the other Harry, yes, but this Harry _is_ his Harry through and through.

They’re married on a Monday.

 

******

 

**Galahad and Percival.**

_The next morning, he finds Harry silent in his office._

_“I have something to admit, Eggsy,” he says, staring at an envelope on the desk._

_Eggsy doesn’t say a word._

_“I found this the first day. I believe you should read it.”_

_It’s a letter from Harry -- from his Harry. Eggsy cries for the life he could have had._

“Eggsy,” Harry interrupts softly. “There was another letter.”

“ _Wot_?”

“Another letter. Addressed to myself.”

Eggsy gapes. “Wot’d it say?”

Looking away, Harry recites it word for word.

“Until he can come back for me?” Eggsy says, confused momentarily. His eyes widen and his hands clench into fists. “You think ‘e’s still alive.”

“Yes,” Harry says simply.

 

It doesn’t change much. They still curl up in bed together, eat breakfast together, and have lazy sex whenever Eggsy gets back from a mission -- the bare bones of their routine is virtually the same. It’s the way they go about it that’s different. They hold onto each other tighter and for longer periods of time. The kisses are bittersweet and filled with longing and anticipation. Even the sex is more intense in an odd way, the thrusts desperate, but slow, and the moans quieter. They’re both waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Or, more accurately, they’re both waiting for the other _Harry_ to appear.

 

They don’t have to wait long. Harry Hart, fifty-six and apparently very much _not_ dead, comes back to London just shy of a month later with some new scarring on the right side of his face.

“Hello, Merlin,” he says cheerfully as he enters headquarters.

He gets a fist to the face in response.

“I suppose I deserve that,” he says, holding a handkerchief up to his bleeding nose.

“You did,” Merlin says flatly.

“I wanted to come back earlier, but I had to wait for my original visit to play out.”

“Well you haven’t wait long enough.”

Harry stills. “Care to explain, Merlin?”

“ _Galahad_ is at home right now,” he says dryly. “With Eggsy.”

“I was only here for a day,” Harry protests.

Merlin’s brow furrows.

 

They consult Dr. Scott, who is pretty much still in Kingsman’s custody.

“I still haven’t figured it out,” he says, irritated.

“Good to know,” Merlin says. “But that’s not why we’re here.”

Dr. Scott looks at him with wary eyes.

“Thirty-four years ago,” he continues, “you sent an agent of mine into the future. He arrived the night we picked you up. _Now_ I’ve got his counterpart from this time showing up alive and claiming he was only here for a day.”

It startles the scientist, and he sits down heavily. “It didn’t work, then.”

“ _What_ didn’t work?” Merlin demands.

“ _The machine_ ,” Dr. Scott stresses. “It was meant to be a time machine, but it obviously didn’t work.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “You’re talking about alternate universes.”

Dr. Scott nods. Harry glances at him sharply.

“You mean to say that the younger agent is _not_ the same one that faked his death?” Harry says, his body tense.

“It’s very possible. Otherwise one of them would surely have died by now. Two of the exact same thing cannot exist simultaneously for very long before the universe corrects itself. If he’s from an alternate universe, he might be _just_ different enough.”

 

Merlin calls Eggsy and Young Harry in immediately.

 

“‘Arry,” Eggsy says as soon as he sees the other man. His voice is remarkably steady, though it does tremble slightly. Unseen to Merlin or the older Harry, Young Harry’s hand is firmly on his back in support. They’ve been waiting for this.

“ _Eggsy_ ,” Harry says softly, putting everything he wants to say into the name, because words will never be enough.

It’s strange to see a version of himself he hasn’t seen in decades, but he gets a good look as the two younger men enter the conference room fully. His own face looks… concerned. He wonders what the younger him sees on _his_ face.

“I’m sorry, Eggsy. I would have come back earlier, but --”

“Merlin filled me in,” he cuts in. “Wot I want to know is why you’re ‘ere if he’s still ‘ere, too.” He stays where he’s standing, right next to Young Harry.

“Dr. Scott believes _Galahad_ here,” Merlin says, looking pointedly at the younger Harry Hart, “is from an alternate universe. Our Harry ended up in another one when he had his own trip, but _their_ Dr. Scott already had ideas on how to reverse the machine.”

“What does this mean for me?” Young Harry says neutrally.

No one has an answer.

 

 

They deal with it. The last Percival is already used to being Arthur, used to handling the workload and assigning missions to the agents most suited to them, and Older Harry is still fit for duty despite his long absence, so it’s simply _not_ logical to make him Arthur even though he has seniority. Young Harry is also used to being Galahad, but Older Harry has held the position, the codename, for decades longer.

And so Young Harry becomes Percival.

Percival and Galahad are given separate missions always, and Eggsy’s mission time (other than solo missions, of course) is carefully split into equal portions with the two of them. They can’t always avoid each other, however -- especially not when Eggsy and Young Harry both live in Older Harry’s house. (Although it was awkward, he declined to kick either of them out when Eggsy asked and never brought it up again.)

 

 

There’s a weird dynamic between all of them, and Eggsy doesn’t like it.

Older Harry has been nothing but polite to him. It’s not like he’s _distant_ , per se, but other than telling Eggsy how proud he is of him and giving him fond smiles, he doesn’t really interact with him at home. On missions, they’re professional, but at least they _talk_ , and when it’s safe to, they joke, they laugh, they have real conversations about things other than the objective. Even worse, Young Harry is doing _the same damn thing_. He’s more intense in bed (whether they’re having sex or not), his hands firm and possessive, his focus on making Eggsy orgasm so hard he practically blacks out. (Sometimes he succeeds.) Out of bed, however, he gives him simple kisses instead of conversation. On missions, _again_ , it’s better.

It’s gotten to the point where Eggsy almost prefers to be on solo missions. Even his mum’s noticed his agitation.

 

 

“Okay, tha’’s it,” he says, storming into the office without knocking.

Older Harry looks up, his expression carefully neutral. “Yes, Eggsy?”

“Food’s ready.”

“I’m not hungry at the moment. I’ll promise to eat later, if you’re worried.”

“You’re eatin’ now, ‘Arry,” he says. “ _Now_. With Percival ‘n’ me.”

“Eggsy --”

“ _Now_.”

 

 

Young Harry is plating dinner when Eggsy physically drags his older counterpart into the kitchen. He absently notes that the man must have wanted to come along going by the ease with which Eggsy pulls him along.

“Is Galahad eating with us tonight?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Eggsy bites out. “Got a problem wit’ that?”

“Of course not.”

“Good, ‘cuz we’re talkin’ this out.”

They settle down with the food, but no one makes a move to eat.

“I read the letter,” Eggsy blurts out. “Tha’’s wot this is about, yeah? You two both -- you _both_ love me.”

“Blunt, as always,” Older Harry says fondly. “And, yes, if Percival is anything like I was, we’re both quite taken with you.”

“What do you suggest we do about it?” Young Harry says, and his voice is flat, which makes Eggsy’s chest pang. It’s like he _expects_ to be thrown aside.

“I _don’_ know,” Eggsy grumbles. “But I care -- _I love_ both you posh bastards, and ‘m sick of you distancin’ yourselves from me.” He pushes the food around on his plate.

“I believed it was for the best,” Older Harry says. “You and he were already involved when I came back.”

“He was in love with _you_ first,” Young Harry interjects.

“I _know_ what happened,” Older Harry snaps before calming. “I visited him -- a version of him -- too, remember?”

“You’re both _fuckin’ daft_.” Pushing his chair out from the table, Eggsy gives Young Harry a slow kiss and, as soon as it’s over, does the same to Older Harry. The older man clearly has more experience than his younger self. Eggsy whimpers as he does something new with his tongue, but he’s careful to end it just as soon as he ended the first, taking a few steps back. “You’re not the same bloody person, yeah?” He faces Young Harry. “‘N maybe I fell in love with him first, but who says I ain’t allowed to love _two_ people?” He turns back to Older Harry. “I fuckin’ hate you for wot you did, you know tha’? But I still love you.

“‘N ‘m not gonna be responsible for choosin’ one of you.”

 

 

He spends the night at his mum’s.

 

 

Two days later, Merlin notifies him of his next mission.

“Your next assignment in a team mission in France. I’ll need you to be briefed and ready to go by six.”

“Team mission?” Eggsy almost doesn’t want to know. Most of his team missions lately have been him and one of the Harrys, and he’d rather suffer Merlin’s wrath for ditching it than get stuck with one of them right now. “How many?”

“Three, including yourself.”

He nods at the screen in front of him with a smirk. “I’ll be ‘round soon.”

_Three_ , not two. Even if one of the Harrys is on the mission, too, he’ll have a buffer. Maybe it’ll even be Roxy. Then he could almost ignore Harry (younger _or_ older), because he and Rox’ haven’t had a mission together in a good while, and they’re pretty well known in the tech department for being a particularly effective team on the more action-based missions. (The words _‘menaces’_ and _‘hellions’_ were thrown around the department in both fond and exasperated tones during those times.) They could send Harry off on another part of the mission or station him as backup, right? Not that it was a sure thing one of the Harrys would even be one of the other agents.

The more and more he thinks about it, though, it seems logical that Roxy would be on the team. Duos were not that uncommon for slightly bigger or more difficult missions. He and Roxy had aced several of those together. But trios? Eggsy had never heard of a trio of agents being used before, and he could only guess that it meant the mission was really big or perhaps really important. In that case, it would be a good strategy to send him and Roxy and then whoever else had the skills needed for the task.

He gives his mum a hug before leaving the house with a smile.

 

 

Roxy’s on her way out when he makes it to headquarters.

“ _Rox’_ ,” he calls out, jogging down the hallway. “Rox’, where you goin’?”

“Home,” she says with a tired smile.

Now that she’s facing him, that he can see her up close, he realizes that she’s not ready for a mission. She probably just finished one. Her suit is just a touch singed on the right side, her shoes have dried mud on the heels, and her makeup can’t hide the exhaustion on her face.

“I thought you were supp’sed to be done las’ night?”

“The KGB got wind of the same intel Merlin did, even though he hid it as soon as he discovered it. They’re _very_ persistent.”

He winces, glancing at the singed jacket again. “‘M headin’ in for a mission righ’ now, but we’ll catch up when we’re both in better spirits, yeah?”

“Good luck, Eggsy.”

 

Now that Roxy has been ruled out, he’s _completely_ fucking clueless. He’s worked with Kay once or twice, and the bloke’s alright, but the others he’s only had minimal contact with.

Of course, he’s ignoring the obvious.

 

“This ain’t gonna work,” Eggsy says flatly when he walks into Merlin’s office.

Both Harrys look at him, their faces neutral.

“ _Oh_ , it’s going to,” Merlin says firmly. “Because if _anyone_ lets petty bullshit cause this mission to fail, _all_ of you are going to be benched until you work it out. _Are we clear_?”

It’s comforting that even the older Harry has a pinched look on his face. No one asked for the team to be the way it is, evidently. Eggsy’s shoulders relax.

 

 

The mission isn’t hard, not _really_ \- just not possible with only one or two agents. There’s a couples charity banquet held by a dubious organization that popped up after the chaos of the year before, and the only tickets they could get are those from a ‘gay’ couple - in actuality a pair of undercover agents from the France branch - that can’t make it due to unfortunate circumstances. The agents, who are close to Eggsy and Younger Harry in age, are both under watch for serious injuries they received from an unexpected bombing on their last mission.

So they match the ages. Harry also speaks French, as does Eggsy. (He brushed up on it after V-day, but he had, in fact, taken a few years of it in school. The fact that he used it to impress birds kept Dean off his back about it most of the time.) They also know each other well enough (and intimately enough) to pass scrutiny on such short notice.

Older Harry is, of the available Kingsman, the agent with the highest knowledge of technology, and there is, according to the France branch, a possibility that there are high tech signal scramblers around the computer systems in the basement of the building that might make it hard for Merlin to pass in a short time. Also according to their French colleagues, security measures at the lowest level bizarrely meant that it was much, _much_ easier to sneak _in_ than to sneak _out_. Their original plan was to have one of the French agents get the information while the other distracts the enemy before letting the first agent out.

And they would need to get in and get out as soon as possible.

Merlin didn’t want to take any chances with his agents. Arthur agreed.

So Percival and Bors will serve as distractions while Galahad sneaks in and copies encrypted information onto Merlin’s flashdrive and a virus onto the computers. Once he’s done, they’ll come and get him out, just as the French agents planned.

 

 

They take a private plane. Although Eggsy learns that Harry can pilot one, Merlin sends them with a pilot from the tech department. Just in case they don’t make it out of the banquet unharmed.

It also means that Eggsy and both Harrys are stuck in the back of the plane for the entire trip. Older Harry glances at his younger counterpart, getting a nod in return, before focusing on Eggsy.

“Eggsy –“

“ _Galahad_ ,” Eggsy says, “We’re on a mission, are we not?” He doesn’t return the stare.

“Bors, then,” he says tightly. “But know that we will be talking after this mission. All three of us.”

Eggsy nods once, afraid of what will happen. He knows it’s inevitable that he have to choose. Younger Harry is silent and sitting curiously close to his older self, but it goes unnoticed, because Eggsy is determined to ignore both of them.

 

 

Unfortunately, he can only do so during the plane trip. They’re all silent as the wheels hit the landing strip at the French headquarters, as they receive their outfits for the night (carefully tailored to their measurements, naturally), and as they head out to the banquet, Percival and Bors in a limousine and Galahad in a Kingman-owned taxi.

“Henri,” Percival says softly, slipping an arm around Eggsy’s waist.

He knows it’s his cover name, _of course_ he knows, but it doesn’t stop his chest from aching at the tenderness in the man’s voice and the reminder that he hasn’t heard it in days.

“Yes, Marc?” he replies with a smile that wouldn’t look strained to anyone but Harry and, through the glasses, Merlin.

“Do you want to go in, darling?”

“It would be much appreciated if you did,” Galahad interrupts through the commlink. “There will be a short window between guards very soon, and I’d rather not wait for the next one.” It’s jarring for Eggsy and Percival both, but it isn’t said unkindly.

“Move it along you, too,” Merlin adds.

 

 

So they head into the banquet hall. They hand their invitations to the man at the door and find their seats together, hands entwined. They smile and chat with the other guests. They talk about the silly way Henri and Marc met, their eyes locked on each other, and generally behave like an obnoxiously smitten couple, because it’s clear that some of the other couples are uncomfortable with it, and what better way to cause a distraction than by utilizing that discomfort?

Merlin commends them on it a few times. They’re just obnoxious enough to be the center of attention without being suspicious. 

It doesn’t make Eggsy feel any better.

 

 

Meanwhile, Galahad is carefully making his way down to the basement, stuffing unconscious guards into closest and bathroom stalls as he goes. When he makes it down to the last level of security, he notifies Percival and Bors. It’s all too easy to cause a distraction by making one of the couples uncomfortable enough to cause of a scene of their own with their blatant homophobia. A few well-placed words gets Percival a fist to the face. The punch has the security coming to remove the couple, and when Bors ducks _just_ in time for another punch to miss him and hit the first guard instead, well, everyone who _wasn’t_ paying attention before has their eyes on the commotion.

 

 

It’s just enough for the small blip in the security monitors to go unnoticed.

“I’m in,” Galahad murmurs and slips into the right room. Two guards hit the floor, unconscious from the darts in his watch.

 

 

The plan is a simple but effective one. Percival’s nose is bleeding and beginning to bruise, so it isn’t strange when Bors excuses both of them with a concerned and tense face. They go to the bathroom down the hall to clean him up before heading down to the basement, ready to deal with the only hiccup in the plan – there is no one to cause a distraction for _them_ when they bust open the security to let Galahad out.

 

 

“Duck, Percival,” Eggsy says cheerfully, getting a running start.

The young man does, to his glee, and then Eggsy’s hopping off his back and using the momentum to leap onto the big guard heading for Galahad. The guard tries to shake him off, but Eggsy clamors up to sit on his shoulders and, holding onto the exposed pipes above him for leverage, snaps the man’s neck with his thighs. Galahad gives him a fond smile before smashing the heads of the two men he was dealing with together. There’s a sick crack that has him wincing, but when Percival takes the last man out with an amnesia dart, he’s smiling again.

 

 

They’re out of the building within twenty seconds.

 

 

The plane trip home is just as silent as the first but significantly warmer. Eggsy soothes the tense, bruising back of Younger Harry, his hands a warm apology for causing him harm, the soft kisses that trail after an apology for ignoring him. He kisses older Harry’s hands, too, because they’re trembling almost imperceptibly from the death they’d caused that night. Both of them offer no protest.

All three of them need this.

 

 

Merlin knows it, too, because he lets them go with a promise of a more detailed report the next day.

 

 

“Eggsy,” Older Harry says when they’re finally back in his house.

“We need tuh talk. I get it,” he says softly. “So which one of you is it?”

They both stare at him in silence for a few moments.

“Which one of you is it?” he says again, his voice resigned. “Which one of you do I get to be wit’?”

“Eggsy,” Younger Harry says gently. He cups Eggsy’s cheek. “You don’t get _one_ of us.”

“We’ve decided to… share if you’re amenable,” Older Harry clarifies.

" _Wot_?”

“Neither of us will mind if you don’t want this,” the younger one assures him.

Eggsy shakes him head, his brow furrowed. “You both sure this is wha’ _you_ want?”

Younger Harry kisses him with the same slow passion as their first kiss, and Older Harry? Eggsy loses track of him until there’s a warm body against his back and soft kisses at his neck.

 

 

They don’t jump right into bed, but it’s a close thing.

For the night they just lie there together, Older Harry molded to Eggsy’s back and the younger one on the other side, facing inward. It’s the best sleep any of them has gotten in months.

 

 

The morning is eerily similar to that night so long ago, but this time, Eggsy _knows_ who’s behind him, who’s in front of him, and when he presses back against the hot cock prodding his clothed arse, it’s done _very intentionally_.

A tense “ _Eggsy_ ,” is murmured against his neck.

“Yeah, ‘Arry?”

There’s a groan behind him, and the eyes in front of him are cracked open, amused and more than a little horny.

“How do you want to do this?” Eggsy says cheerfully.

“I rather think I should sit this one out,” Younger Harry says regretfully, leaning in for a brief but intense kiss. He winces as the movement pulls at his sore torso. “You stepped on me quite hard yesterday, and I think that last guard cracked my ribs.”

“Can you sit up against the headboard?” Eggsy says curiously.

He does so, thinking, of course, that Eggsy means for him to _watch_. And he does as his older counterpart kisses his way down their lover’s chest, rediscovering the body he hasn’t been able to touch for over thirty-four years. It’s hot, yes, but also bittersweet.

All he can do is sit there. He watches as Eggsy takes two, three, four careful fingers, as his older self slides back up to position himself, as – as Eggsy pushes him away? They both watch then, wary of the change in their lover.

But Eggsy simply crawls between Younger Harry’s legs and bats the hand off his cock, replacing it with one of his own and settling the other on his hip. “Jus’ sit there, yeah?”

Older Harry chuckles and lightly kisses Eggsy’s back as he moves behind him. When he gets a smirk from the man in the middle, he grips his cock again and teases the rim of the hole before slipping in, finally. Younger Harry is treated to the sudden pleasure on their lover’s face, and as if that wasn’t enough, Eggsy takes a few inches of his cock into his mouth as the other Harry seats himself all the way.

When he pulls back, so does Eggsy, keeping a hand on Younger Harry’s hips to keep them from jerking up to follow. Thrusts back in have Eggsy taking him in again and again and again. A rhythm – a _cycle_ – is established. Each thrust travels from Harry to Eggsy to Harry and back again, because from his position, Older Harry can see Eggsy deepthroating Younger Harry and vice versa, and every time one of them moans, Eggsy moans, too, humming it around the cock in his mouth as he clenches around the one in his arse.

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long for any of them to orgasm.

Younger Harry goes first, his hands in Eggsy’s hair as he spills into his mouth, and it’s like a wave, Eggsy cumming at another brush against his prostate shortly after, his head cushioned against his younger lover’s thigh. Older Harry falls against his slumped back as his hips jerk against his arse, and it’s all over.

 

 

They’re late to report the next day, and no one’s surprised.

(It becomes the norm after that. Merlin and Arthur bemoan the fact that they have not one but _three_ perpetually late agents. Roxy thinks it’s sweet.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've reached the end (... three times!), and I hope you've enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I wrote this as a counter to my slowburn fic, and since I'm still far from done with that one, I might be writing another quick hartwin fic sometime in the future (maybe after finals, ugh). But you can always bug me on tumblr if you have prompts or questions :3

**Author's Note:**

> I've read a bunch of hartwin time travel fics and they usually involve Eggsy going back in time, and I just really wanted a fic where Harry ended up in the future instead, so I wrote this in about three days.
> 
> That being said, it _is_ completely finished (unless people want an epilogue or whatever, but in my opinion it can stand on its own right now), but I have to proofread it. Plus, I didn't want to just dump it all at once on here since it does have pretty good boundaries for chapters. So I'll post one every other day until all four are posted!
> 
> Chapter 2 is the reason this is rated explicit, btw.
> 
> (Also, if you happen to read any of my other fics, don't worry - I'm still working on chapters for Waste Not, Want Not and Dead Man's Float. I just had to crank this out or I was going to go crazy!)


End file.
